


The Spoils of Tyranny

by DanyKinkFic



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - BDSM, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Dark, Anal Play, Asphyxiation, Ass Play, Bisexuality, Blasphemy, Boot Worship, Brainwashing, Caning, Canon Divergence - Hardhome Aftermath, Canon Divergence - Meereenese Politics, Canon-Typical Violence, Choking, Cock & Ball Torture, Cunnilingus, Dark Dany, Dark Fic Fest, Dark!Daenerys, Dark!Dany, Dark!Jon Snow, Darkfic, Dom/sub, Dom/sub Play, Dominant Daenerys, Dominant Female Character, Dominatrix, Domme Dany, Dubious Consent, Edge Play, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Evil Daenerys, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, F/M, Fear Play, Femdom, Foot Fetish, Forced Relationship, Graphic Description, Hate Sex, Heavy BDSM, Humiliation, Jonerys, Masochism, Master/Servant, Mind Control, Mindfuck, Multi, Murder Kink, Original Character Death(s), Porn With Plot, Rope Bondage, Sadism, Sexual Slavery, Sexual Violence, Slavery, Smut, Stockholm Syndrome, Submissive Male Character, Threesome - F/M/M, Top!Dany, Waterboarding, ballbusting, breath play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-06
Updated: 2017-10-05
Packaged: 2018-10-15 09:51:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 34,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10554308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DanyKinkFic/pseuds/DanyKinkFic
Summary: Jon escapes Hardhome with his life, but loses his freedom before he reaches Eastwatch.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [half_life](https://archiveofourown.org/users/half_life/gifts).



> More Jonerys femdom, though I will caution you that _**this fic is dark as shit**_. In this universe, Dany is clearly her father’s daughter, and about as redeemable as an expired coupon. She treats Jon like absolute shit, against his will, with none of that “oh but he’s so strong to submit like that” crap from my last fic. I’m not 100% sure where this is going, but if she and Jon marry, they will honeymoon in Stockholm. 
> 
> The target audience for this fic is twisted, kinky fucks like me and my more loyal readers, who don’t actually wish any of this on ourselves or anyone else, but find ourselves getting tingly about it nonetheless. If you want to see Jon and Dany act cute and fall in love, _this is not your fic_.
> 
> Canon divergence, the exact nature of which should make itself obvious in the first few chapters. Same basic universe, though. As with my last fic, I may mix book and show elements where convenient.
> 
>  **Additional Author’s Note** : I don’t respond to “why do you hate Jon Snow” comments. I don’t hate Jon Snow. He’s a fictional character, as is Dany. Not everyone will get turned on by this story, but if you read it and perceive a personal attack by me (a stranger) on you (a stranger) and/or your masculinity, sexuality, worldview, or whatever, I suggest you press the “Home” button on your browser, take a deep breath, and examine that internally, rather than fire off a comment that will inevitably get deleted without a response.

“You've seen what's coming!” Jon stood on a crate below deck on the _Blackbird_ , addressing the shattered remnants of the Night’s Watch contingent he’d brought to Hardhome, and the Wildlings they’d rescued. “We can’t keep fighting amongst ourselves. What they’ll do to all of us is a thousand times worse than anything we could ever do to each other. We can’t force living men to stay north of the Wall. Hate them all you want, at least they’re living. And the Free Folk can’t stay so proud of their freedom that they won't stop raiding and raping once they get south. We don’t have _time_ for it! We have to tell the men at Eastwatch what we saw.”

At best, he got a handful of grunts and nods in response, mostly from people he knew already agreed with him. The rest of them stared blankly into space, as they’d been doing since the ship raised anchor and fled the horde of dead men that had slaughtered their families. But he felt compelled to say something. The ship was nearing Eastwatch, and he needed to stir some feeling in these men. He already feared that his pleas for help would be laughed off by his brothers, and needed witnesses to help his case.

Tormund sat leaning against a rafter at the base of the crate. He tugged Jon’s leg. “Sit down, boy. They know that already. Do them a mercy for a few more hours, and let them pretend they don't.”

Jon had nothing to say to that. He’d always been a thinker; a worrier; he couldn’t sit still when he knew what was out there. But these men, women, and children all wanted nothing but to huddle on the floor, still and silent. _Yet if they were drinking and dancing, I’d be sulking in a corner._ That was to be expected, he supposed. It had been that way his whole life.

Before he could sit, the hatch opened. The captain’s mates flew down the stairs, and the last one in closed and locked the hatch. _What now?_

“Dead men?!” Jon barked, his hand on Longclaw.

“We can’t tell, it’s too foggy,” the mate replied. Jon suspected he’d come from the Iron Islands. The man was in his fifties, and his face looked like a jagged rock that had never known anything but the spray of salt water. “But there are sails, and they’ve got no business this close to us.”

The oarmaster’s drum beat louder and faster, as the _Blackbird_ did its best to escape whatever was coming for it. Every man who could fight reached for his sword, Crow and Wildling alike. _We need fire arrows on the deck,_ Jon thought, but the water was too choppy to safely carry a torch.

“Lamp oil! Cover the floor with it!” Jon shouted to anyone who would listen. _Better to burn alive than give them any more meat than they've already got._

But before anyone could carry out his command, they screamed at the terrible sound of oars snapping like twigs, all along the left side of the ship. The _Blackbird_ shuddered, too hard to be from anything else but a ship smashing against its hull. Seconds later came the footsteps above. The women held their children close, and the fighting men stood where they were, swords drawn. There was no time to form up into any sort of defensive position, and there were too many sick and dying men to step over.

The creatures above deck banged and pulled at the hatch; relentlessly and methodically. It would only be a matter of time until they broke it. Jon girded himself for the sight of a dead, rotting fist punching through the splintering wood.

But what finally broke through was metal, not flesh or bone. _Axes. Men._ The defenders said nothing and made no move, but Jon could sense their relief. Nothing a man could do to them was worse than what they’d seen on shore. Jon puzzled at who it could be. _Pirates, this far north?_ It wasn’t unheard of, but with its black hull and sails, the _Blackbird_ was plainly a ship of the Night’s Watch, and any half decent pirate knew there would be little of value in its hold. _Maybe they want the ship itself, or maybe we’re the only prey they could find._

After what seemed like an eternity, the hatch finally broke open. _Not pirates._ Pirates weren’t fool enough to wear armor to fight on the deck of a ship, but the men streaming down the stairs and lining walls all wore mail and breastplates. Some of them were brown of skin, some fairer, and some jet black. But despite that, they all seemed a mirror image of each other. Even in the cramped, crowded, ever-swaying quarters of the _Blackbird_ , they moved with an inhuman precision, their steps all in perfect unison. None of them spoke. Their armor was all the same, immaculately clean and of excellent quality, though Jon could not make out the strange sigil on the breastplate. His men froze. No Wildling or Black Brother had seen anything like it.

Some shirtless Wildling fool charged toward the stairs, screaming and waving a sword in each hand, but tripped over a dying child and landed flat on his face. One of the soldiers wordlessly stepped forward, drove a spear through the back of the Wildling's head without so much as a grunt, and stepped right back to where he'd been standing. And that was that.

Two brown-skinned men trotted down the stairs and stepped over the Wildling, paying him no mind as he bled out on the floor. One was fat, balding, and middle-aged. The other was younger and built like a proper soldier. They wore armor as well, but Jon doubted either of them expected to need it. The suits were almost laughably ornate, plated in gold and inlaid with more gems than Jon had ever seen in one place; rubies, sapphires, emeralds, amethysts, onyx, and diamonds. The men had curved swords on their belts, but neither felt the need to draw them.

“Drop swords! Drop! Drop!” Shouted the fat one in a thick, guttural foreign accent. Everyone looked to Jon. _Bugger it, they're living men who can fight. We’ll tell them what we saw._ Jon threw Longclaw to the floor, and the rest of his men followed suit.

The survivors of Hardhome were marched single-file above deck, where more of the strange soldiers awaited them. A plank about ten feet long had been laid down between the _Blackbird_ and the other ship. On the _Blackbird_ ’s side of the plank was another man with an unremarkable face and absurd suit of armor. He eyed each captive as they stepped onto the plank. Those who looked like they could fight or labor were waved aboard, as were the children and more comely women. The old and the sick and the wounded were casually pushed into the Shivering Sea. Some went willingly.

Jon finally got close enough to read the sigils on the soldiers’ breastplates. On the left was some strange beast with wings and tits and a tail; black on white. The symbol on the right was more familiar, though Jon had only seen it in books and drawings. _These men have never set foot on dry land in Westeros_ _,_ he knew immediately.Not since Jon was a babe had a living man in the Seven Kingdoms dared to show the three-headed dragon.


	2. Daenerys I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fresh meat lands in Meereen.

The Queen arrived at Daznak’s pit at dawn, well before the afternoon’s fight. A ship had arrived the evening prior, its hold packed full of slaves, and she’d been so excited that she hardly slept the night before. Daenerys had grown accustomed to letting the pitmaster choose the best fighters among them, and taking a few from his lot for her own purposes.

She emerged from her litter and stepped onto the back of the slave who had dropped down to all fours alongside her. A second slave--older, weaker, and far less pleasing to look upon--laced his fingers together and held out his hands to catch her foot on her next step. _Who saw fit to send this old man?_

To punish whomever that was, she made a point of landing on the second slave’s hands with all her weight on the one foot. It caught the man off guard and crushed his fingers into the dust. He screamed in some foreign tongue, which she interpreted as a plea for mercy. Uninterested, she twisted her foot from side to side as her other foot touched the ground, then continued toward the pitmaster, who knelt before her.

“Rise.” She pointed back toward the slave whose bones she may or may not have broken. “Have that one’s hands off. They’re no longer of use to me.”

“At once, Your Radiance,” the pitmaster replied as he stood and gestured toward a guard to carry out the command.

Dany had never liked that title, but ‘Her Imperial Majesty’ would have to wait until the dragons were big enough to bring the other Ghiscari cities to heel. For now, she had to be the gracious Meereenese Queen, committed to peace, friendship, and trade with Yunkai and Astapor.

She remembered the moment she decided on the course her life had taken. It was the moment Kraznyz mo Nakloz handed her the whip that gave her control of the Unsullied. She’d come there to free them, and their city, but as they stood in their perfect rows, devoid of their own will and ready to die at her command, the tyrant her father had created inside her overcame everything else. _‘Slay the masters,’_ she almost commanded. _‘Slay everyone in this city who doesn’t fall to their knees and swear me fealty,’_ was what came out instead. _Smartest decision I ever made,_ she thought. _Slave armies suit me well._

But Meereen was as far as the tyrant could go with only 8,000 men and three small dragons, and in Meereen she would wait, until those 8,000 men became 100,000 and those small dragons became the largest the world had seen since Balerion the Dread. Her marriage to Hizdahr zo Loraq was politically expedient, but easy, as he had proven to be nearly the perfect husband. _He’s never around, and he never asks questions._ His wealth was hers, his army was hers, and his people were hers, so long as she kept her promise not to upset the slave trade. And why would she do that? _Why deny myself the spoils of tyranny? Only a silly little girl would do that._

Flanked by two guards, the Queen and the pitmaster strolled under an arch and down into a holding pen, where a few dozen men stood chained to the walls. “Who do we have this week?” She asked as she eyed the captives.

The pitmaster pointed to the man nearest to her. “This one was a bricklayer, Your Radiance. He was caught looking at his master’s daughter.” _Shall we give you something more to look at?_ Dany grabbed his face and looked into his eyes, then pulled his chin down so he could see between her breasts, pushed tightly into her white silk dress. She watched his eyes closely as they took her in, and noted them wander to her feet in their jeweled sandals. _One of those, are we?_ She wiggled her toes ever so slightly, and smiled to herself as his eyes tried to follow them, before releasing her grip and moving on. Men who came to her like that had their uses, but she preferred to make hers from scratch.

“This one is a Myrish sellsword who fell into debt, Your Radiance.” The man was gigantic. Six and a half feet tall and twenty-two stone, at least, all pure muscle. _He could pull those chains right out of the wall if he wanted to._ But he didn’t want to. He knew that meant a spear to the knee, and a slow, painful death at Dany’s hands in the dungeons of the Great Pyramid.

The Queen retrieved a dagger from a guard’s belt and sliced off the sellsword’s roughspun breeches. _This one would do nicely,_ she concluded, after a look at his manhood. “Don’t move,” she commanded the man as she teased his cock and balls with the point of the knife. Aside from some quivering and shallow breathing, the man obeyed.

The fear kept his cock from hardening, so she spat into her palm and began to work him with a methodical detachment. If she acted the least bit impressed, this man would brag to others about how the Queen couldn’t resist his massive, beautiful cock. But her world was full of massive, beautiful cocks, and this man must not fool himself into thinking he was anything more than meat.

The whole city had heard rumors of the depraved things she did, but so long as Hizdahr remained indifferent, none would challenge her right to indulge in them, lest they find themselves the object of her next indulgence. And so long as she confined her perversions to slaves, Hizdahr would forever remain indifferent.

The freedom to do as she pleased was almost as sweet as the vile things that pleased her. She was her father’s daughter, through and through, and had long ago decided to stop fighting and embrace it. And the endless stream of men and women to do with as she pleased, free of any consequence, liberated her to be the beast she truly was. _If my father had slaves like this, he wouldn't have had to torture those Stark men, and I’d be on the Iron Throne at this very moment._

As the sellsword’s cock hardened enough to support its own weight, Dany aligned the blade of her dagger with his shaft, touching it ever so slightly. His next heartbeat sent a pulse of blood to his cock. _I wonder if it bleeds more when it’s hard._ That caught her interest far more than the cock itself. She pressed the blade down against the head as the pulse made it grow. The man screamed terribly as the blood built up around the blade and began to drip to the floor. Dany found herself mildly disappointed that it didn’t spurt like a man’s neck after a beheading, so she gave it a good slice as consolation.

 _Well, now I’ve ruined his massive, beautiful cock,_ Dany lamented for half a heartbeat. She watched it shrink as it oozed blood, and slid the tip of the knife under his foreskin, snipping it like twine on a box. “Do something about that, so he can fight this afternoon,” she commanded the pitmaster, her voice nearly drowned out by the prisoner’s screams. _Enough of the blade for now._ She gingerly licked the hot, salty, fresh blood from the blade, put the dagger back in her guard’s sheath, and moved on to the next one.

“This one is from Naath, Your Radiance. He--”

“No.” Naathi were bad at fighting and worse at fucking, and thus has no place in Daenerys’s life. “Break his nose,” she commanded her Unsullied, because she could. Instantly and silently, the eunuch punched the man square in the nose and return to his position, still and rigid as a statue.

Dany moved on, bored already.

“And this one is from Westeros,” the pitmaster announced when they reached the next man, knowing it would pique her interest. “A Wildling.”

“I’m not a Wildling!” The man protested, petulantly. _Wherever he’s from, they don’t believe in haircuts._ Dany scrunched her nose, annoyed that his sense of entitlement to speak hadn’t been beaten out of him yet.

The pitmaster sensed her dissatisfaction, looked up at the guard, and gestured. The guard landed a right hook square on his cheekbone.

Dany had never seen a Wildling before, but she’d always pictured them huge and mean, with hair all over their bodies. _Give this one a bath and he’d look like a boywhore._ The man was fit, without a doubt. His muscles were nicely defined, though by the way his ribs were showing, he clearly hadn’t been fed well on the journey by ship. _An expensive boywhore,_ she conceded. Dany couldn’t be certain if they’d had him work above deck in the sun, or if the mixture of filth and sweat that clung to his body was simply that thick, but she sensed he was of fairer skin than he looked.

“We’re sending men north of the Wall, now? Isn’t that rather far for _this_?” She gestured at the captive.

“No, Your Radiance,” the pitmaster explained. “We captured him at sea, but his ship had no Westerosi sigils on it, and the men were dressed in furs.”

“I’m Night’s Watch!” The captive’s tone was more desperate than petulant this time.

“Night’s Watch?” Dany looked at him askance, though the black wool breeches stopped her from naming him a liar just yet.

“His ship was full of savages, Your Radiance. More animals than men,” the pitmaster insisted.

“So he’s a deserter, then.” Dany knew little and cared less about the Night’s Watch, but she knew that desertion meant death, and the prospect of death meant she could give him just that when she was done with him, without listening to her husband bleat about wasting a good laborer. Her eyes lit up.

“I’m not a deserter.” The petulance crept back in as his wound began to swell. “I’m the Lord Commander.” Dany let out a chuckle. _That would be news to Ser Jorah._ “And the natural son of Ned Stark of Winterfell.”

 _Oh, this will be a fine morning._ “Hand of the King to Robert Baratheon? That one?”

The man sighed, wondering if he’d been better off as a nameless Wildling. “Aye, that one.”

“The dead one? With the dead heirs? And no one left to pay a ransom for you?”

He nodded.

Dany laughed. “If you’re trying to talk yourself out of a slow death, you’re doing a poor job of it,” she warned him, smiling crookedly. “Do you know who I am?”

“I've got it down to a short list.” _Surly, this one._

“Then I’m certain you’ve heard tales of my father,” she continued, taking that as a yes, and ignoring the insolence for now.

“Quite a few,” he answered.

“Good. Never compare me to my father.” She looked up at him and pinched his nipple between her nails, hard enough to be just shy of breaking skin. “I’ve done things that would make my father piss himself if I whispered them in his ear. Fuck your short list.” She tugged and twisted, as the man went from a grunt to a high-pitched scream. “And fuck everyone else on it. You know who I am. I alone decide if you live or die, and I’m maddeningly fickle. Do we understand each other?”

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry, Your Grace! Your Radiance! I mean it, I’m sorry! But please, I beg you, you _have_ to listen to me.” _Oh, I have to?_ “Terrible things are marching on the Wall. Dead things. They’re coming for all of us.”

Dany stood on her toes and whispered into the man’s ear. “Keep talking, and by evenfall you’ll envy those dead things.”

“He’s been telling these tales since we captured him, Your Radiance,” the pitmaster explained.

Dany nodded. “And I suppose you’re to save us, Lord Commander?” She mocked, finally releasing his nipple.

“Please, _please_ , just listen. There’s a village north of the Wall--”

 _Missing its halfwit?_ “Hit him.”

The guard gave him a left hook to the other cheekbone, silencing him. Dany kept her eyes on the captive, salivating at his broken, bleeding skin. She turned to the pitmaster. “Unshackle him and bring him to the pyramid. If he’s such an important man in the Seven Kingdoms, I shall require a private audience.” She smiled wickedly at the captive, who looked like he might have believed her. _You poor child, you truly have no idea yet, do you?_

The pitmaster bowed in obedience, and Dany turned wordlessly toward her litter.

She awaited him in the dungeon of the Great Pyramid. The torchlight by the door flickered against the walls, and her children slept behind her, collared and chained. She had changed into riding clothes, so as not to ruin her dress with dirt and dragon shit and whatever fluids she’d manage to extract from her slave. Rhaegal began to stir, sniffing the air and growling softly as the daylight cracked through the opening door.

Two guards stood at the top of the stairs with the captive, his wrists chained in front of him. He was blind from the hood that covered his face, and looked every bit as miserable as he’d been at the fighting pit. They kept still, awaiting her command to push the man down the stairs. Instead, she waved them forward. They stepped downward, slowly and deliberately, ready to stop the instant she commanded. He was more than two thirds of the way down before she finally had them stop and push him. _Why let the stairs have all the fun?_

“Leave us,” she commanded the guards once he’d rolled to a stop at her feet. They left and closed the door behind them, as she dragged the man to his feet, unlaced his breeches and yanked them down to his ankles, then grabbed him by the chains and led him into the darkness toward the back of the room.

“Please, whatever you mean to do, just do it,” the man pleaded.

Dany laughed. “I’m already doing it.” She led him on, then tripped him and pushed him down to his knees before a marble column about seven feet tall in the center of the pit, erected solely for men like this one.

By now, they were far from the torchlight, and Dany could barely see in front of her. She removed the man’s hood, but before he could find his bearings, she had his hair in her fist. “Do you know where you are?”

“Some prison, I imagine.” The man replied, a hint of defiance still lingering in his voice.

 _You wish this were a prison._ “Close,” she smiled. “Let me give you some light.”

She made a kissing noise into the air, summoning her children forward. Rhaegal cracked his mouth open and let out just enough of a flame to light the room. The man’s eyes widened and he began to whimper and tremble. Dany waved both of them closer and offered them a sniff of her fresh meat.

“Go on, piss yourself. They all do,” she invited the man, almost sweetly.

He proved no different than the others. “Gods be good,” he muttered, as the beasts took his measure and the puddle grew between his knees.

Dany leaned down and bit his earlobe, dragged it between her teeth, and let it go. “There are no gods left in this world but me,” she told him, as she hovered near his ear. Her voice was low, contemptuous, and purged of any sweetness. “And you shall forsake all the others if you want leave this room alive, do you understand me?”

The man nodded. _Proper slaves speak when spoken to._ But she forgave him just this once, and pushed his head to the floor, keeping it there with her boot on the back of his neck.

“Good. Lick it up.”

“...What?!”

She rolled her eyes and pushed his face into his own piss puddle with her foot. “Are you deaf? I said lick your piss off my fucking floor!” The man began to obey, his body still shaking and his face twisted in disgust. He lapped at the puddle he’d made, thicker and muddier as it mixed with the dirt on the floor, nearly gagging with each stroke of his tongue.

Dany smiled, amused, and unchained his wrists. “I’ll be back. Move, and you die, my children will make sure of it. That puddle had better be gone when I return.” She strode toward the very back of the room, between the dragons, doubtless the man would obey, and indifferent to what would happen if he didn’t.

She could already sense her cunt growing wet, and had to fight to stop herself from running. _Don’t let him think he matters. Let him sit with the fear. That’s just as torturous._

From a small box at the back wall, she retrieved a cord of rope, a hollow wooden cane as tall as she was, and a smooth onyx stone shaped like a cock, wrapped in thin lambskin, and fixed to a harness. In a sconce above the box was a torch, which she lit and took with her as well. When she returned, she put the torch in another sconce on the side of the column, then dropped the rope and cane next to her prisoner and smiled down at him, daring him to do something about it. She inspected the damp spot on the floor that had been the puddle, dragging the toe of her boot back and forth across it.

“It’s still wet,” she told him, with a mocking disappointment in her voice. She was fully aware of how unreasonable it was to expect it to be bone dry, and that was the point.

Out of other ideas, the man whispered an apology, put his nose back to the floor and started dabbing his tongue against the spot, like it were a towel. Dany smiled. _Fool._ She kicked some dirt into his eyes to stop the farce. The man covered his eyes and pulled his head off the floor.

“Get up,” she commanded, as she affixed her cock’s harness around her hips.

The man looked up at her, tears washing the dirt from his eyes, worried that this was some trick. Dany sighed. “Maybe I’ll slaughter you no matter what you do, or maybe I won’t. But defy me, and you shall die screaming. That’s the one thing I can promise you.” She slapped him across the face. “I won’t say it again. Get your craven, oathbreaking, traitor’s bastard ass _up!_ ”

The captive rose to his feet. “Please…”

“You have far more bravery than sense if you think now is the time to ask anything of me. Now, hug that fucking column like it’s your dead traitor brother. She hoped that would bring a tear to his eye, and it did. _Mmm. Shall we see what else makes you cry?_

She grabbed his hair again and licked the tears from his face, biting lightly just below his cheekbone and tugging at the skin, letting it slip between her teeth as she pulled away. “Did you not love him?!” She hit him across the back of his head. “Hug it! Tighter!”

When she was satisfied, she walked around to the other side of the column and bound his forearms together above his head with the rope, and attached it to a hook to stop his arms from slipping down. “You’re a pretty one, has anyone ever told you that?” She asked, as she slapped his ass cheek, dug her nails in and pulled it open, licking the middle finger of her other hand and teasing his ass with it. “The boys at Castle Black must have loved you.”

“No, no...I never…” He was exhausted already.

“No, no, I never,” she mocked, in the voice of a halfwit. “Very well, then,” she let him go and picked the cane up off the floor. “If you’re fresh meat, then we’ll need to get you good and tender.”

The captive’s knees had already buckled, and he slumped helplessly against the column. “No, please, just tell me what you’d have of me! Please!”

Dany laughed. “No, I’d rather not. It’s best to keep men like you guessing, I’ve found.”

She drew her arm back and _THWACK_ ed him with the cane, backhanded, wasting no time with being gentle. She loosened the harness of her cock just enough to slide a hand under her breeches and toy with her cunt at the man’s scream and the cracking sound as the wood hit his ass.

“But I’ve been told that if I’m to rule the Seven Kingdoms one day, I must listen to my subjects, so we’ll make this an exercise in benevolence.” She hit him again, this time landing it across his back, the sensation in her cunt growing slowly but persistently stronger. “I’ll let _you_ decide when you’re tender enough.” A third time, down on his ass again. “When you’ve had enough of the beating, all you need is _beg_ me to fuck that little cunt of yours until it bleeds.”

Dany could see his entire body tense up, and felt herself blush. _Making the Queen blush is a great crime,_ she decided just then, as she idly played with her clit. She struck her criminal again on the back, then on his ass, affording him no respite in between. She could see the marks from the cane swelling, but decided that wasn’t enough. _Harder!_ Maddening as it was, she took her hand off her cunt to focus on mustering as much strength as she could.

A few more times and the skin on his back finally broke. She stopped to lick the blood off, caressing his shoulders while she savored the thick, hot, salty taste in her her mouth. _Make him feel good enough to know that you are, in fact, a woman. Then ruin him,_ said the dragon inside her.

She licked and sucked at the cut as he wept softly, lost in his own misery. That didn’t sit well with her. _Fuck your pain. Worship the woman who caused it._ Her hand went gracefully up the back of his neck and clutched his black curls between her fingers again. When she had his attention, she turned his head sideways and spat a mouthful of his own blood onto his temple.

“You taste quite good, Lord Commander,” she informed him, whispering in his ear. “For your own sake, I suggest you stop bleeding so easily.”

The man tried to utter something that Dany assumed was yet another plea for mercy, but his words were slurred and half-formed. That only made her laugh again, softly and to herself, as she licked his wound once more and stood back, swallowing the blood this time. Her mouth watered like only a man’s blood could make it water.

Dany stood behind the man and put her cane between his legs as he kept babbling to himself. _Slowly. So he doesn’t notice._ When it was ready, she snapped her wrist back like a fisherman who had just hooked a massive catch. The _THWACK_ of the cane striking his balls, and the yelp from the man that melted into a sob, were so pleasing that she simply had to do it again. So she did. And once more, for good measure. _I could bring myself to the edge from that alone,_ she wagered.

The captive was wailing like a babe torn from his mother’s teat, so she drew the cane back and hit him on the ass again. “Are those even words?!” She asked, more amused than angry.

By his blubbering response, she surmised they weren’t.

“How will you beg me to rape your maidenhead away if you can’t even speak?!” She hit him on the ass once more, then pressed the tip of the cane between his cheeks and gave it a few good shakes. “Hm? _Answer me!_ ”

The fear of the cane up his ass was enough to bring his wits back. “Please, pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease…”

“There’s a word,” she smiled and hit him on the back again.

“Please--”

 _Silly boy._ “You said that already!” The next crack of the cane against his shoulder blade made her wonder if she’d broken something. _That must hurt._ That made her smile.

“Please, fuck me! Anything but this, _PLEASE!_ ” _Perfect. No more words for you._

She hit him once more. “What?!”

“Fuck me! Please!”

She struck one more blow, mercilessly. “ _Speak!_ ”

“ _FUCK ME! RAPE ME! PLEASE!! ANYTHING!!_ ” His body tried to double over and sob, but the rope denied him that luxury.

Dany had to stop for a moment to breathe deep and bask in that. Her hand went back to her cunt, and a soft moan escaped her lips. She struck him twice more, to remind him he didn’t matter, then took the rope off its hook and let the dead weight of his body slide down the column as she stood in front of him.

When his mouth was level with her cock, she tightened its harness, grabbed his head and forced it between his lips. “Look!” She mocked as she slid it down his throat, grinding her hips until she was fucking him. _Every bit as hard as this boy has fucked anything,_ she wagered _._ “I’m even wetting it first!” He looked up at her with an agony and desperation in his eyes that made her moan again in spite of herself.

Spit and snot and tears all poured from her slave’s nose and mouth and eyes, mixing together on her cock. The man began to gag and heave. _A mercy you haven’t had a proper meal in a week,_ she smiled down at him. _Pray I won’t need to show you what happens to boys who wretch all over my boots on the first day._ She pulled out, let him gaze at her dripping wet cock for a moment, then playfully slapped the side of his face with it. “You may be a bastard, but you’re a noble bastard. And as your host, I must afford you all the courtesies befitting your station.”

The Queen teased his lips with the head of her cock until his eyes showed something that almost resembled comfort. She smiled wickedly and ran her hand up the shaft, from the base to the tip, wiping it nearly dry. “Then again, your lord father was a traitor.”

Dany watched it drip off the tip of her cock and onto the floor, savoring the fear in the man’s eyes as he watched as well, and used his jawline to wipe between her thumb and index finger. “You’ll clean that up later,” she teased, as she put the cane between his teeth. “Bite this while I rape you,” she told him, nibbling his earlobe. “You’ll need it. But don’t break it, or I’ll have to find somewhere to put the splinters.” She mussed his hair and moved behind him.

The man seemed to have second thoughts once Dany spread his cheeks apart. He fidgeted and tried to squirm away. _Don’t make me do this._ She sighed. _You woke them from their nap, now they’ll be cranky all day._

“No.” She grabbed his hair and pushed his head against the side of the column, so he could see the back of the room. " _Dracarys._ ”

The dragons had yet to be fed that day, and were eager to please their mother and break their fast. Flames flew past them on either side, sending a wave of heat and wind and dust whirling through the room. Dany and her slave both hid their faces. The room lit up, bright as day, as every muscle in the prisoner’s body tensed up and went limp an instant later. When she spotted him pissing himself again, she forced her cock into into his terrified virgin fuck hole before he regained any semblance of control over anything below his waist. _Much better._

She couldn't feel it directly, of course, but she could tell how tight he was by his screams and grunts, and by how hard she had to force it into him. “Just breathe and take it, cunt,” she warned the slave. “Fight me and you only make it worse. There’s no hope for you here. _Give up,_ so I can make a whore of you!”

But the whore-in-waiting was too overcome with fear and agony to listen. He clenched himself around her cock and stiffened his spine, as if that would help. Once Dany was all the way in, she began to teach him the truth of her words, pumping slowly at first, not to show him mercy, but to draw out his suffering.

Each thrust was a struggle at first, but they grew easier each time. Once she settled into her rhythm, she lost herself in the beautiful sounds of a man being raped. His screams vacillated between pain, disgust, fear, shame, and shocked, involuntary pleasure. _They all want it, secretly._ That was plain as day to her.

The harder she fucked, the worse it got, and the worse it got, the more pleasure she took from it. She slapped his ass and felt her cunt flooding as she watched her palm imprint itself over the welts and bruises from the cane. All it did was make her want to destroy him completely. The cane fell from his mouth as she pulled him toward her, catching him by surprise. _I suppose he’ll have to bite his tongue, then._ She laughed at the notion that she’d have him bleeding from two holes at once.

Dany couldn’t say whether it was from exhaustion, or reluctant surrender, or if she’d fucked the slut in him out into the open, but she felt his body relax and let her do as she pleased with it. _Does it matter why?_

It didn’t, of course, any more than it mattered why Meereen had bent the knee to her. Fear of being burned alive, hope for an end to the noble Houses that had ruled for a thousand years, or trust in Hizdhar’s judgment all yielded the same result: the wealth and might of a city and the thousands who dwelled within its walls, all at her disposal. Hers, to bend and break and build back up however she pleased. To fill her coffers, to murder each other for her amusement, and to sail west to die in the name of her birthright.

 _Add this boy to the pile_ , she thought, as she pulled his hair back and pounded him into the wanton piece of meat he was born to become. _He should grovel in thanks that I paid him this much mind. He did precisely nothing to earn it._

The sobbing and bleating came back, and the man’s body shuddered and gave out. _I’ve torn him,_ Dany guessed, based on her considerable experience tearing men apart from the inside. She thought about pressing on until he blacked out, but she wanted him healthy enough to fight in the afternoon. She gave him a few more thrusts, as hard as she could, imagining herself planting her seed and breeding him like a bitch, merciless enough to leave him no choice to imagine the same.

Once she'd filled him, she pulled her cock from him and let him drop to the floor, then cut his rope and rolled him flat onto his stomach. “I love nothing more than a thoroughly shattered man at my feet,” she told him as she picked up the cane and poked him with it. “If you’re fortunate, you’ll live long enough to put yourself back together, and I’ll shatter you again.”

The man groaned in half-conscious agreement. Dany stood behind him, kicked his legs apart, and pressed down on his balls with the toe of her boot. The slave yelped and the muscles in his back all flexed at the same time. Dany purred in admiration and gave him a kick. “Roll over.”

He obeyed, wincing as his wounds made contact with the cold, filthy floor.

“We didn’t do enough to the front of you,” she mused, pressing the tip of the cane into his nipple and twisting it. “Next time, yes?”

He nodded yes, which made her smile. Dany unlaced her breeches and straddled him, grabbing his cock and pulling it toward her cunt. It was soaked, hot, and pulsing, begging to be properly fucked. _Not by him, though._

She teased the head, rubbing it against her clit, letting it feel how ready she was. “Shall we reward you?” The man looked up at her, almost as if he’d been expecting it all along. _You have so much to learn about me._ She guided his rapidly stiffening cock slowly toward her cunt, pressed herself down ever so slightly, then dismounted him.

“I don’t give rewards. Ever. You could save me from every last one of these dead things yourself, and I’d beat you until you pass out the instant they were gone.” She began to pump his cock with one hand while she tended to her cunt with the other. “Everything I’ll ever do to you will be for my own pleasure. I may let you into my cunt one day, or I may not. I may be gentler than I was today, or I may be far, _far_ worse.”

She began to pant softly, as the far worse things flashed before her. The man kept still, stunned into silence, his body and mind clinging to the first hint of pleasure he’d felt all day.

“I’m not doing this for you.” She kept pumping and stroking, watching for what made him weak. “I’m doing this so you’ll think of it when you remember the first time I raped you. So you’ll want more. So you’ll wonder what kind of man you are. So you’ll be ashamed of yourself, and the pleasure you took in your own defiling.” The man writhed, not to escape, but to succumb even more. _That’s it. Deeper, little slut. Sink lower for me._ “So you’ll only know pleasure when it comes from suffering at my hands.”

Her own pleasure was becoming too great to ignore. She mounted his leg and dragged her cunt against it, marking it with a trail of wetness, pumping his cock more fervently with one hand; grabbing her breast and twisting her nipple with the other.

 _Finish, you bag of shit!_ She’d had enough of him. He must have sensed it, as his cock began to pulse, and his seed spilled onto his stomach and chest. _Yes. That’s what happens to your body when I use you. Tell your Wildling friends, and your men at Castle Black. Tell them how you love being raped up your ass._

Dany arched her back and moved her hand back to her clit to finish herself. As she reached the edge, she leaned down and clamped her teeth into his neck, biting down hard, screaming, tearing back and forth like a lion ripping the throat from its prey, wishing she were a lion, and for one blissful moment, believing she was. She reached her peak and punctured his skin at the same time, the blood flowing onto her tongue as the juice of her cunt flowed onto her slave’s thigh. His scream was every bit as loud and high and uncontrollable as hers; his from terror and hers from lust. She punched him straight in his balls just before she came down, gasping one last time as she fed off of his pain.

When she finished, she stood and laced her breeches while he curled up at her feet, drained. “What’s your name?” She finally bothered to ask, as she trod his head into the ground on a lark.

“Jon…” his voice was still tortured and cracking.

“Snow, I take it?”

He nodded. She kicked his nose lightly to see if he’d flinch. He did, which pleased her.

“Jon Snow. It sounds like a false name that a boywhore would use, so his patrons don’t learn who he is and tell his father.” She tapped his head with one foot, pushing it toward the other, until his lips touched her boot. _Maybe he’s not too stupid to have been Lord Commander,_ she thought, satisfied that he’d taken it upon himself to kiss it. “But your father is dead, isn’t he? I’m told it was quite the spectacle. I drank a toast when I learned of it, you know.” She crushed his cheek into the dirt again. “You should thank Joffrey Baratheon for killing him. No one can tell him what a whore I’ve made you.” 

Jon simply writhed around, nodding. Dany could have watched that for hours. She kicked under his chin so he’d switch boots, which he did.

Her face twisted into mocking contrition. “I must apologize for what I just said, that was wrong of me,” she began after a pause, once she’d sufficiently admired his groveling. He looked up at her, confused. _Yes, I do apologize on occasion._ She spat on his face. _But not for mocking your father._ “Whores get paid.”

Dany smiled, grabbed the torch, and walked toward her dragons, ignoring Jon completely. She motioned for them to lower their necks, and calmly removed the pins from both of their collars.

“If you live, I look forward to watching you fight this afternoon,” she told Jon, barely stopping for him on the way out, her mind already elsewhere. “And remember to clean your piss off the floor, like I told you. If it’s still there at feeding time, my children might not learn to tell your scent from a sheep’s.”

Dany trotted up the stairs, extinguished the torches as she walked out the door, and left him in the darkness.

Hizdahr joined her at the pit that afternoon, after doing whatever Hizdahr did all day. All Dany knew for certain was that it involved half the other nobles in Meereen, already drunk on their pisswater wine, blathering on about buying shares in some trading company, and ogling her shamelessly. She had come to rather enjoy that, and part of her hoped that one day, one of them would entice her into his bed, so she could watch the city tear itself apart when it learned what she'd done to the poor fool. _In a year, maybe. The dragons are almost ready._

The pitmaster and his guards brought each fighter out with the requisite pomp and fanfare, boasting of each one’s prowess like the whole crowd didn't know that these were simply the biggest or most belligerent men who happened to tumble off the boats the day before. Only the best of these men would stand any chance of fighting a true champion.

The Myrish sellsword came out, limping and pale in the face. _Maybe his wound is infected,_ Dany hoped. It would be a small payment on the debt the gods owed her for taking Drogo so soon, before she'd had the chance to learn what she was, and wound him herself. _That would have been a sight._

The Naathi entered as well, shirtless and terrified, as he should be. He had no business being there, and the whole crowd knew it. They were there to see blood, and they'd certainly see his, but she could sense the worry that his would flow too easily.

Some red-headed beast was next, with two swords, no shield, no armor, and an absurd fur coat that looked like it weighed near as much as she did. Even from the viewing stand she could see he was drenched in sweat. _Where do they find these people?_

Last was Lord Commander Boywhore, in some farcical leather outfit that covered almost none of his chest, and looked like something he'd stolen from whatever brothel had sold him to her slave merchants. _Though when I do take Westeros, I must visit that brothel._

A laugh went up from the crowd when they noticed he wasn't walking properly. Not everyone knew why, but enough did that it started a nice round of derisive, mocking cheers. Dany blushed. _What kind of demon could have done that to him?_ She smiled and sipped her wine, pleased with herself that the spectacle was like to start rumors. She enjoyed the rumors, almost as much as she enjoyed the way men would take her measure when they first laid eyes upon her, puzzling how such a small, charming woman could possibly be so monstrous, doubting if what they'd heard was true. _And once he dies, no one can ask him._

Dany motioned for the fighters to approach the royal viewing stand. The pitmaster herded them toward her and lined them up. She smiled down at him, and he looked to his guard, who cracked a whip on the ground.

“We fight and die for you, oh glorious Queen!” The fighters proclaimed in reluctant unison. None of them had fought in a pit before. They were plainly terrified at what was to come, but even more fearful of what would happen if they didn't shout the words at the top of their lungs. That never ceased to flood her cunt. _Die for me. Now. Like the rest of this city will die for me soon enough._ She raised her hands in front of her, winked at Jon, blew him a malicious, taunting kiss, and clapped.


	3. Jon I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon fights for his life, but is victory worth the price?

“ _KILL ME!_ ” Jon shouted, as he charged and swung his sword at Tormund, just fast enough to look like he was trying to fight.

The Wildling stepped back and let the blade cut the empty air before him. “What?!”

Jon circled around him as the crowd shouted for blood. “Kill me, then kill her, then find someone who isn’t a madwoman and tell them about the White Walkers!”

Tormund swung back, equally half-hearted. Jon easily blocked him with his shield. “Have you lost your wits, boy?!”

 _Like as not, yes._ “She's a monster!” _Please don’t ask me the details._ The memory overwhelmed him with shame, and Jon feared the Wildling would simply mock him, or name him a liar. He somehow found himself on the offensive, swinging wildly and pushing Tormund back on his heels. _Little shit, kill me!_

“Aye, she is a monster!” Tormund replied. He seemed content to let Jon swing away at will. His blocking had grown almost lazy. “Everyone here is a monster! You fear being tortured? What do you think they’ll do to me if I kill her?” He made a sad attempt at a parry, but Jon easily dodged the blade. “I love you, boy, but not that much!”

Jon saw the Naathi charging at them, both hands on his spear, defenseless, like a fool. On reflex, Jon put his shield up, dropped to one knee, and thrust his sword into the man’s stomach as he barreled over him. _Why in the bloody hell did you do that?!_

A sense of terror filled him as the man fell back into the dirt, wide open from his belly to his nipples. _One less chance at a quick death. One less man who can save me from her._ He spotted the Queen in her viewing stand, watching him, impressed with his work. Jon wasn’t certain that was a good thing.

He ran over and stood above the Naathi, hoping against hope that the man would find the strength to pick up the spear and skewer him with it, or that Tormund would stab him from behind, but he had no such luck. _The least you can do is end this man’s suffering._ He drove his sword down through the man’s heart, giving him the mercy that Jon feared he would never know himself.

Tormund was occupied with the sellsword from Myr with the maimed cock, who'd had the misfortune of catching the Dragon Queen’s curiosity that morning. Jon looked back over at Daenerys, her head cocked to the side in impatient confusion. _Letting a man catch his breath is too merciful for her,_ he reckoned. Out of fear, and determination to die, he sprinted toward the men with his shield down and his sword above his head, and no plan but to let one of them cut through him like he'd just done to the Naathi.

The sellsword had just knocked Tormund into the dirt and was about to strike the mortal blow when he spotted Jon charging. He turned, put his shield up, and used it to push Jon aside. It was the perfect excuse for Jon to trip, lose his sword, and fall on his face.

 _Do it, you half-cocked oaf!_ Jon rolled onto his back and pretended not to be able to reach his sword. The sellsword loomed over him and drew his arm back. Jon took a deep breath, hoping it would be his last, and was about to close his eyes when he saw the tip of Tormund’s blade burst out between the man's nipples.

 _You fucking cunt, you don't understand what I'm trying to escape!_ Jon supposed he had no choice but to pick his sword back up and get back onto his feet while Tormund was still finishing off the sellsword.

“ _Listen_ , you halfwit crow bastard,” Tormund growled as he stepped on the dead sellsword’s back to extract his sword. “If I do you a mercy, do you think she'll forgive that?” He asked, as they each circled around the sellsword’s body. Jon hadn't thought that far ahead. “Do you think the _crowd_ would forgive that?” He took a swing with his sword. Jon blocked it. “If you mean to die, you'll have to put up a fucking fight!”

He could have easily walked into Tormund’s next reckless cut at the air, ended it, and let the Wildling worry about the consequences, but something stopped him. _I can't do that to him._ He hated that part of himself sometimes, and cursed his father as he leaned back to dodge the blade. _If he won’t do it for me, I can at least do it for him._ It would give her one less man in the world to torment. _That’s reason enough._

Tormund lunged forward, using his sheer mass to knock Jon back on his heels. Jon stepped aside and swung his sword at the Wildling’s back, still loath to hurt him, but grudgingly conceding that he simply had no choice. The blade cut into his side near the small of his back, enough to wound him, but not enough for a mortal blow.

 _This is a good man,_ Jon could not help but think, as Tormund turned around for another charge, wounded, but only enough to enrage him. _He doesn’t deserve this._ Jon put his shield up and crouched behind it, hiding as much of his body as he could. The blows landed on his shield, quick and hard and merciless. Jon thrust his blade around the shield, landing the tip between the Wildling’s ribs and pushing it in deep. _That will serve._

Tormund’s weight fell onto the shield. Jon pushed back, forcing Tormund to the ground, flat on his back, his arms outstretched. The sword they’d given him was dull and poorly made, and slipped out of Jon’s hand, still lodged in the Wildling’s side.

Jon straddled him and pounded the edge of his shield against Tormund’s face. _Must I watch myself do this?_ It was one more of her terrible games. “It will be over soon,” he whispered as he landed blow after blow, destroying the man’s nose and eyes and cheekbones. “I promise.”

Tormund’s flailing grew weaker, and finally stopped. Jon closed his eyes as he rose back to his feet, knowing that in a moment he would again have to look upon what he’d done to Tormund’s face, and live with the memory forever. _Deep breath. Brace for it._ He stood over the dead body of his last friend and dropped his shield. The sight was as bad as he’d feared. He waited eagerly for the heat and exhaustion to make him faint, but even that was denied him. The pitmaster grabbed him by the arm and raised it above his head, dragging him toward the Queen triumphantly and to the adulation of the crowd. Jon wanted to retch. _She'd like that. Don't give her the satisfaction._

Daenerys stood and clapped like a Queen, charming and regal enough that Jon almost forgot she was pure evil in the flesh. The pitmaster deposited him before her viewing stand, dropped his arm and smacked him on the back of the head.

“Bow,” the pitmaster commanded. Jon bowed just enough to avoid another smack.

“Well fought!” The Queen declared. “Bring him back to the pyramid. I shall congratulate him myself when the other rounds are over.” _Will you congratulate me until I bleed from my ass again?_

A guard poked him in the back with the butt of his spear, and led him out of Daznak’s pit. He was taken to a cell in the Great Pyramid, and shackled against the wall. Mercifully, there were no dragons to be found.

Jon could not be certain how much time had passed, though he guessed it was at least an hour. He may have fallen asleep in his chains, but the cell was dark and silent, and the difference between consciousness and sleeping had disappeared. Whatever state he was in, it was interrupted by the creaking of the heavy wooden door, and two slave soldiers, one of whom had a torch.

The other soldier unchained him and let him drop to the floor and pick himself up. He tied Jon’s wrists together in front of him and shoved him toward the door. “You see Queen,” the torch bearer announced, in a heavy accent.

Jon was marched up what seemed like endless steps. When his legs could hardly bear his own weight, he reached a door at the top of the stairs, opening into a well-lit hall of clean, immaculate marble. The guards kicked him in the direction of a larger door made of solid gold, which opened onto another set of steps, at the top of which sat the Queen in a fine white silk dress, sandals laced up just below her knees, and a gold crown in the shape of a three-headed dragon. He knew better than to simply walk up the steps to a monarch’s throne, but it was terror and revulsion more than protocol that stopped him in his tracks. He felt another spear butt, the time in the back of his knee.

“Kneel for Queen,” said one of the soldiers. It was an unnecessary command, as he would have easily collapsed had they stopped holding him.

“You kneel before Her Radiance Daenerys Stormborn,” a dark-skinned girl announced in the Common Tongue, with only a hint of an accent. She went through a string of titles that Jon was too exhausted to follow. The Queen descended the steps as the girl prattled on, reaching him just as she finished. He could smell her as she stood before him. She’d clearly just bathed, and it was the most beautiful thing he’d smelled in as long as he could remember, though at the moment, the only fragrances he could remember were shit and death. The thoughts that filled his mind infuriated him. _She raped and tortured you, but you want her because she smells good?!_

One of the soldiers grabbed his hair and guided his head down to her feet. “Kiss!”

Jon had no choice, so he did. They smelled just as good as the rest of her, which infuriated him further, and were so soft and clean and perfect that he wondered if she’d ever used them for walking.

Daenerys waved the guards back a few steps. “Rise,” she commanded Jon. “Stand.”

Jon obeyed, wondering if he could somehow escape the rope and snap her neck with his bare hands before the guards could get to him. He had six inches of height on her, and more than enough brute strength, even in his weakened state.

The Queen regarded him. She seemed to admire his chest, covered only by filth, sweat, a sash of boiled leather that passed for a breastplate, and the blood of the last man he was ever like to call a friend. He tried to slouch, hoping he would look less pleasing to her, knowing that the more she wanted him, the more she would suffer.

Daenerys simply put one hand on his chest and the other on the small of his back, and pushed him upright, like Septa Mordane would do to Arya. “You want to murder me right here, don’t you?” She smiled. “You’re thinking of ways to do it.”

He hesitated, then lied poorly. “No…”

The Queen laughed. “Of course you do. Anyone would, after what I did to you.” _Then why did you do it?_ She took a step forward, until their bodies almost touched. “Do you know what my guards would do to you if you tried?”

“They’d execute me.” _That’s why I want to do it._ Part of him wanted to say that, but something about her piercing, violet eyes made him fear death again.

Her grin twisted in amusement. “No, my love, though I imagine that’s what you want.” In retrospect, Jon realized it would never be that simple with her. _And I'm her love, now?_

“They would make you miss me,” she continued. “They would do things to you that would make you look back on this morning and wish I was there to pamper you with a cane and a cock up your ass. They’d keep you alive until you were an old man, and make each day worse than the last. They’d geld you, and blind you, and worse. Do you understand that?”

Jon nodded, though he tried not to think about the details, lest he show this woman any more fear than he already had.

“Good,” the Queen tweaked his nipple. “Come. You need a bath.” She turned wordlessly and ascended the steps to her throne.

Jon felt another spear at his back, taking that as a command to march behind her. He followed her past the throne, through a backdoor, and down a corridor to her bedchamber. The room was as big and beautiful as her throne room. In the center was a bath big enough for four people, full of steaming water that looked scalding hot.

Daenerys turned toward her guards and pointed to the ground. They pushed him back down to his knees, and stood back. The Queen looked down, her eyes bright, her twisted smile brimming with anticipation. “Unlace my sandals.”

Jon looked up at her. “My hands--”

She smacked him across the face, as hard as anyone had smacked him since he first boarded the slave ship, and he’d been smacked quite a few times by men twice her size. “Your hands are not my problem. You can move your fingers, so work the rest out. When I want to hear your bleating, you’ll know it.”

Grunting and grimacing, Jon set to undoing the laces from her knees to her heels. It seemed to take an eternity, but the Queen remained still and watched him, sternly but patiently. When he was done, she kicked them off, removed her dress, and sat at the edge of the bath with her feet the water. If it was hot, she gave him no hint of it. Jon made a point of not looking at her naked body, fearing what would happened if she caught him, and what would happen if he liked what he saw.

She patted the floor at the edge of the bath. “Strip him, put him here, and leave us,” she ordered the guards.

A dagger cut through the back of his breeches and slashed down the legs, as the other soldier removed his breastplate. Jon fidgeted, but complied, as the soldiers lowered him onto his back with his head hanging over the water. When they left, she put her soft, delicate hand on his throat and pushed his head back into the bath. His neck only craned back far enough to let his face just below the surface, but it was more than enough.

The water was far hotter than he would have guessed, and stung his skin. His body convulsed in shock, but the Queen only pressed down harder on his throat. Water went up his nose and into his mouth and ears, burning his throat like hot wine that had just come off the fire. He choked and gasped, but that only brought more water.

All he could see was a blurry mass of silver hair and unnaturally perfect curves above the water. His chest began to heave as his lungs searched desperately for air. His body twisted from side to side, uselessly. As his vision started to grow dark and his body weak, he felt her hand move from his throat to the back of his head and push up.

“What's my name?” She asked, the instant his ears reached the surface.

All Jon could do was cough up water, gasp, and cough up more water. He attempted a word, but all that came out was a choking sound and a weak scream.

“No, I don’t think that’s my name.” Her hand went back to his throat and pushed him under again.

His skin had acclimated, so the heat was not as bad, but everything else was worse. He had the sense to keep his mouth closed, but he still felt the water flooding through his nose and into the back of his throat. _She won’t kill me yet. She’s enjoying this too much._ But that was little comfort, and he grew less certain of it with every breath he failed to take.

She pulled him back up and punched him in the stomach with her other hand, sending a fountain of water and spit and snot out of his mouth and into the air. “Shall we try again? What’s my name?”

He coughed one more time to let out the last of the water, and spat out a “Daen--” before he ran out of air and gasped again.

“I thought you were quicker than that.” She dunked him once more.

This time he closed his throat and shut his eyes. There was less water in him the next time he came back up. “ _Daenerys!_ ” He wheezed with his last bit of air, then gasped again. “You’re Daenerys Stormborn!”

She smiled down at him. “Good.” But she pushed him right back under to disabuse him of the foolish notion that his answer would earn him anything.

Jon was not ready for that, and the water filled his lungs yet again. _She’s had her fun, now she’ll kill me._ But for better or worse, she pulled him back up.

The Queen let him take a few breaths before she spoke again. “You’re breathing now because it pleases me to allow it. Why?”

 _What kind of question is that?!_ “I--I don’t know. Please, please don’t--”

But she did. His head went back under, and the water crept in. This time was mercifully short, which made him nervous.

“That’s right. You will _never_ know. Because it’s not your concern.” Daenerys looked down at him like a plate of food she’d prefer not to eat, and pushed him back under.

His limbs grew heavy, the lack of air wearing his body down. This time was longer. Too long. _Too long!_ This was it, he was certain. He forbade himself from thinking about anything but what it would be like to give into the darkness and die. Daenerys pulled him back up just as he was about to black out.

“It displeased me just then, so I forbade it,” she said casually. “Why?”

He opened his mouth to say he didn’t know, but suddenly thought better of it. _This is a lesson._ “It’s not my concern!” He coughed, until his lungs were finally free of water. His breaths were heavy, but finally short of desperate.

The Queen smiled. “I knew you were a clever one.” She pushed herself out of the bath, stood, and gave him a good hard kick between his legs. “Get in. You’re filthy.”

Still reeling from the pain, Jon lifted himself into a sitting position and slid into the bath. It was almost comfortable, until Daenerys pushed him off the ledge into the center of the bath. With his arms still tied in front of him, he kicked and twisted and flailed about, surprised at how deep it was and trying to keep his nose and mouth above water.

The Queen laughed. “Right, you’re shorter than most of them,” she observed, smiling, as she sat back down. “Best keep jumping I suppose.”

She made him wait just long enough to feel beaten and humiliated, then grabbed his arm and dragged him back to the ledge. “Enough foolishness.” She guided him into a kneeling position on the ledge, wrapped her legs around his head, and pulled him in by his hair.

 _Don’t make her tell you what she wants._ There were worse things she could have him do, Jon supposed, but it still enraged him. He had no love for her, in fact he hated her, and as his tongue lapped slowly against her clit, he felt like a traitor to himself, and to all that was good in the world.

Daenerys gasped, exhaled slowly, and growled a low, soft growl as her hips began to roll. Were Jon not her captive, and had she not shown him what a monster she was, he would have hungered for it. It was fresh, and sweet. A cunt for certain, but its taste and scent in the hair on her mound were just strong enough to make him want more. _There are millions of cunts in the world. This one isn’t special._

He forbade himself from liking it, then felt her hand press lightly on the back of his head, inhaled, and broke his own vow as quick as he’d made it. His mouth began to water as her wetness seeped into it, filling him with the same fear and shame and rage as if it had been blood after a punch to the jaw. _Take it out on her clit,_ he thought, as he licked faster and sucked lightly. But that was folly. _If you think you’re punishing her, you’re a fool._ Her hips agreed. _A weak little shit, and a fool._

“Well-schooled, aren’t you, bedslave?” The Queen growled just loudly enough for Jon to hear as she squeezed her thighs tighter around his head. _No one ever taught me this, you vicious cunt. It comes naturally._ But even put nicely, that would sound like bragging, or worse, an offer to serve her like this more often. _My mouth is already offering that,_ he realized.

She grabbed his hair and tightened her fists until he grunted from the pain. “ _My_ bedslave. Get your _fucking_ face in my cunt.”

 _Yes,_ was his first thought. _No, no, don’t do this,_ was his second, but his body was deaf to his mind’s pleas. He pushed his face against her, and let himself slip past his inhibitions. His cock pulsed in the water, and the heat made him imagine he was inside her. _No, don’t._ But he slipped past that one even easier. _Bugger._ He grunted and thrust his cock into the empty water, wondering what it would be like to fuck her.

“ _More,_ bastard slut!” Demanded the woman whose father had cooked Jon’s grandfather alive in his own armor. _But if he hadn’t done that, there would have been no war. Father would have never gone south. I would never have been born._ That was leading his mind toward madness, but his body was already there. He held her clit in place with his lips, stroked it with his tongue, flicked it with the tip.

Daenerys had let the lust consume her as well. Her gasps and growls had turned to panting and moaning. She propped herself up with one elbow on the hard marble floor, as the other hand gripped Jon’s hair. _That can’t be comfortable,_ Jon thought. _She’ll want to be done with it quickly._ The part of his mind that understood how dangerous this was had lost the battle to his base instincts, and that was the best he could do to console himself.

“Yes! Do it! Please me or I will do _far_ worse to you, do you hear me?!” She screamed as the pleasure began to overtake her.

Jon nodded and grunted. His eyes suddenly found themselves drawn up to hers. _You need her approval._ The shame and confusion crept back in, but it was only fleeting. _Stop fighting this. Earn her fucking approval._

Her thighs were wrapped too tightly around his head for Jon to make out everything she said, but he got the gist of it. “...Love this, don’t you… _don’t_ you…” He nodded, because questions like that were not truly questions. “....Rape that pretty face....fresh little ass…. _bleed_ …” _No, that’s too much._ But his mouth cared only about bringing the Queen over the edge, so he had no choice but to worry about that later.

Daenerys arched her back and pulled herself up. She was screaming wildly, and Jon worried someone could hear her. _That’s not your concern,_ he remembered. The Queen plainly didn’t care about the noise, so why should he? _Who do you think you are?_

Jon felt a sudden weight on his face as Daenerys pushed herself forward and into the bath, forcing Jon off the ledge and under the water. Even underwater he could hear how powerful her screams had become. Her hips bucked violently; her legs locked his head where it was, and her hands yanked his hair hard enough that she easily could have torn it out.

 _I’m going to die here,_ Jon was certain. _She’s taking her pleasure, and when she’s done, she’ll kill me, and laugh about it._ His lower body kicked and thrashed as he felt himself sinking deeper. _Just finish her. Finish her and maybe she’ll show you mercy._ The part of his mind that had earlier urged him not to do this at all was now screaming at him to worship her cunt like his life depended on it. _It does._

Jon could not say whether it was skill, or luck, or if she had never meant to kill him at all, but the terror only lasted a few seconds. He heard one last groan from the Queen before she released his head and kicked herself away from him. Jon’s head bobbed up to the surface and he gasped desperately.

Daenerys landed her perfect little ass softly on the ledge and rested her elbows on the floor behind her. When Jon regained his bearings, she put her feet on his chest and kicked him over to the ledge opposite her. She regarded him for a moment, then pushed herself toward him. The madness in her eyes burned just as brightly as it ever had. _She means to bite down and tear into my face,_ he thought, still catching his breath and struggling to think properly. _Rip my throat out._

Instead, she wrapped her legs around the waist and kissed him on the mouth as deeply and passionately as Ygritte had ever kissed him. _Her hand is on my neck,_ was the only difference Jon could feel. But he reckoned she did most of her kissing with her hand on a neck.

Eagerness, lust, shame, hatred, and terror all blended together in his mind until it melted into a strange, cloudy sense of affection that he’d never felt before and couldn’t explain. It wasn’t love; he still very much hated this woman, but if there was a way to express this feeling other than with a kiss, he could not fathom what it was.

She lowered herself slightly and let his cock slide between the lips of her cunt, but not inside her. When she got the soft, desperate moan she’d been looking for, she stopped, broke the kiss, smiled at him for a moment, slapped him and spat in his face, and pushed herself back to the opposite side of the bath.

“Clean?” Her tone was casual and friendly.

“I suppose.” He found himself giving her a half smile. The layer of filth that had clung to him since Hardhome was gone, and he had to admit that in some ways, he felt like himself again. But his response was disconcerting. She spoke as if everything that had happened over the past two days was normal; that he’d been living like that forever and always would. And nothing in his reply hinted that he felt otherwise. He wondered if she’d tricked him into accepting his slavery as part of who he was. But he was powerless to do anything about it. Like she’d chained and beaten and raped his mind like she’d done to the rest of him.

“Good.” Daenerys lifted herself out of the bath and walked, dripping and naked, to a closet near her bed at the back wall of the room. She retrieved two towels and tossed one onto the bed. “Come here. Dry me off.”

Wordlessly, save for an agonized groan, Jon extricated his sore and wounded body from the bath. His hands were still bound in front of him, so he had to pull himself up by his elbows, then lay flat on his stomach on the cold marble floor for a moment before he could get to his feet. He walked toward her, dripping and naked himself. The rope on his wrists forced him to hunch his back and kept his posture humble. _Is this to teach me subservience?_ He wondered. _Yes. Of course it is._

He walked slowly, trying not to slip. Daenerys held the towel with her arm fully outstretched, never moving until he reached her.

“Here.” She threw it at him, but he couldn’t catch it, so he had to crouch down on his knees. It seemed she expected that, and meant it that way. She pointed to her feet. “Kiss.”

 _You’ll be doing a lot of this._ He obeyed.

She seemed satisfied. “Begin.”

Jon started at her ankles, preferring not to look up at her, fearing he might grow accustomed to the view. To his consternation, he found that her body was not as soft and weak as he’d expected. Her calves were firm and had a shape to them. _You must not allow yourself to enjoy this,_ a voice inside him said. _You must not come to crave her body._

It would have been easier with any other woman, but Daenerys was not any other woman. Most would tease him and play coy, hoping he’d chase them. If he chose not to, they would move on to someone who would. Daenerys had no time for such games. Her presence was unmovable, and rather than tempt him into touching her, she commanded it under the threat of a years-long, painful death at the hands of her slave soldiers. But a woman’s body was a woman’s body, and hers was maddeningly beautiful. He could feel his heart beat faster as his hands ran over the curves of her body, even through the towel.

Jon was content to lose himself in his own mind as he worked his way up her legs, but her cunt forced him out of it. _Should I stop? Ask permission? Pretend it’s not there?_ He wasn’t even certain how to dry a cunt. He’d never had to. _What if my fingers do something they shouldn’t?_ He looked up at her for some clue, despite how hard he’d just tried to avoid it. _She always wins._

The Queen smirked and kept her head still, enjoying this immensely, but giving him no hints. At a loss, Jon patted between her thighs, his palms flat to keep his fingers from doing anything stupid. She laughed to herself as he felt the heat of her cunt through the towel. _Don’t dwell on it, just do it and move on._ He still hadn’t the slightest clue what plans this woman had for him, but he knew enough to be certain that her cunt was the most dangerous part of her.

She gestured with her head for him to move on. The rest was less terrifying, though he still froze for a moment when he reached her breasts, and his bound hands made her back more difficult than it should have been.

“Enough. That will serve,” she finally said. Jon exhaled, perhaps too loudly, judging by the look she gave him. He realized he was still wet, shivering, and standing in a puddle of bathwater that had accumulated at his feet.

Silently, the Queen retrieved a dagger from her bedside table. It terrified him less than it would have the day before, though he still didn’t trust her not to slit his throat, or slice his cock and balls off on a whim. _She’s stripped me of the will to care._

To his surprise, she smiled at him and cut his hands free, and threw him a fresh towel. She put the dagger back on the table and watched him dry off, sitting on the bed with her legs crossed at the knees, her hands propping her up behind her.

 _Cover her face with the towel, grab the knife and do it._ The Queen cocked her head to one side, curiously, as if she knew precisely what he was thinking. Something about it froze him where he was, and he remained there, still drying himself off like a fool.

She smiled and picked the dagger up, offering it to him. “Here.” She waved it, impatiently. “Take it!”

 _Better you hold it than her._ Jon took the knife and looked at it, then back at her, then back at the knife. _Do it, fool!_ Why was he hesitating? He remembered her words. _‘They’ll make you wish I was there to pamper you with a cane and a cock up your ass.’_  But that was all bluster. It had to be. _Just do it! This woman is just as evil as what you saw at Hardhome. Do it for the world, not yourself._

“Go on, stab me,” she teased, as she stood and looked up at him, unarmed and only inches away. “You want to, that's plain enough.” She took his cock in her hand, gently, toying with it with her fingers. He could feel it about to stir. “What's stopping you?”

 _Are you that weak?!_ Her eyes taunted him that yes, in fact, he was precisely that weak. She squeezed hard the instant she felt his cock start to grow, and tugged it down. It wasn't pleasurable in the least, but he would have given anything for her to keep her hand there. _She's worn you down_ , he told himself. _She has you, and you're the only one left in the world who doesn't know it._

“Do it.” Her voice was almost demanding. “Rid the world of me. Be the hero you want so desperately to be. They'll write songs about you.” She dug her nails into his shaft. An hour ago, that would have easily earned her a dagger in her belly. Now, all he could do was bite his lip and resign himself to the fact that this was what counted for pleasure in his life. With every moment of hesitation, her smile grew more triumphant, until he almost felt it himself.

He dropped the dagger at her feet and sighed. Her smile vanished. _I should have handed it to her._

“Pick that up!” She sounded almost amused. “Do I look like your handmaiden?”

“I'm sorry,” Jon muttered weakly as he picked up the dagger and handed it to her, hilt first.

“Hands behind your back.” The Queen poked the dagger at his belly, not hard enough to break skin, but enough to make her point. “I may have let you keep your arms free all night, had you not dropped that knife so recklessly.” She reached back into her closet. Jon could hear manacles dangling.

“Of course,” she mused aloud, as she clapped one around his wrist, “you may have been doomed to endure this from the moment you walked in the room. Or maybe I’m simply doing what makes my cunt wet in the moment. But you don’t care about that, do you?”

Jon wished he did care, but the Queen worded her question in a way that made the right answer plain. “No,” he answered, the extent of his defeat sinking deeper into his mind with every word.

He felt a foot in his back between his arms and fell face-first onto the bed. He could sense Daenerys move toward the closet again, but before he could understand what was happening, the numbing sting of her cane hit his ass.

She kicked his legs apart and pressed the tip of the cane into his balls, against the mattress. “ _Why_ don’t you care?”

 _You know this, tell her._ “Because it’s not my concern.” The words had barely passed his lips when she struck him again, from the other direction.

“What?! Speak!” _She's as fast with that cane as half the men at Castle Black with a sword,_ he realized, once his mind allowed itself to form thoughts again.

“It's not my concern! That's what you said!” Foolishly, Jon tried to squirm away onto the mattress. That only earned him a cane to his Achilles tendon. He howled and slumped back down into helplessness.

“Why did I say it?!” She hit him on the ass again, harder, to round out his punishment for trying to escape her.

“Because I’m nothing! I don’t matter!” His ass felt like it she’d lit it on fire. He girded himself for the smell of burning human flesh, but it didn’t come. _If she meant to burn me, she’d tell me first. She feeds off the terror._

“Good!” She hit him thrice more, in rapid succession. Tears welled in his eyes. “It pleased me to do that, so I did. Like it pleased me to fuck your face. Like it pleases me to do this.” She pressed the tip of the cane into his balls again, and turned it from side to side. The tip wasn’t as smooth as the rest of it, and he was certain the rough, splintered wood would carve a hole right through to his cock on the other side. He shrieked, like a woman, and tried to squirm away again.

“Please, please, please, please, please.” _Please what? Stop? Don’t hit so hard? Tell me what you want?_ Whatever he begged for, she would only ignore him, or laugh, or do the opposite. _Say more words._ “Please, _please!_ ” Every other word he'd ever learned escaped him.

He’d almost gotten onto the mattress when he felt her yank him back by his ankles, then grab his cock and balls from behind and twist.

“I’m not done with you, and you know it,” she dug her nails in and tugged. “It’s _this_ that makes you such an insolent little shit. Pray I let you keep it. It’s becoming a nuisance.” She released him, drove a knee between his legs to emphasize the point, and dragged him back down by his chains.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I--” He screamed and sucked his breath through his teeth as the cane hit him again.

“ _Pray!_ ”

“Please don’t take my cock off, _please!_ It was just a reflex!”

“Fuck your reflex! Learn to ignore them, or I’ll teach you myself!” Each swing was more violent, and he felt himself start to bleed. “ _Pray!_ ”

 _Say something._ “ _Please! Your Radiance!_ You’re the last living god, there are no others, _please_ let me keep my cock!”

She scratched down from the small of his back to his thighs, dragging her nails over his open wounds on his ass. Jon twisted and writhed and curled his fingers into a fist. Then he suddenly felt nothing, and heard only the jingling of a harness going around a waist. _I suppose it was foolish to hope she wouldn’t._

The pain when she entered him was just as bad as the last time, but the shame was even worse. _How many times before she starts telling me I like it?_

“You like that, don’t you?!” She grabbed a fistful of hair and yanked it back. “ _Don’t you?!_ ” He should have known.

“Yes! Yes, I like it!” That finally sent him into outright sobbing. _How long before it’s true?_

“Of course you do. You _need_ it.” She slapped him on his cut, stinging ass. “You need _all_ of it, you just don’t know it yet.”

Her thrusts once she was inside him were just hard enough to make him wonder if she was right. Her cock filled him, spreading a strange sensation through his body. Jon wasn’t ready to call it pleasure, but it wasn’t sheer pain, either. It passed through him like a wave, melting his body down, making him into nothing more than an extension of hers.

Jon bit the inside of his cheek until it started to bleed, to block out the feelings in his body and the ideas they put in his mind. He had just managed to lose himself in thoughts of being anywhere else in the world, when he heard footsteps. He looked up and gasped as a man stood on the other side of the bed. The man was not her husband, but if the Queen was scared or embarrassed, she gave nothing away. He looked down at Jon, annoyed, but not angry.

“Do you have to do that here?” By his hair and beard and the way he was dressed, Jon thought the man was her fool, until he spotted the curved swords on his belt.

“Have his mouth or bugger off!” The Queen replied, her voice far too playful for Jon’s liking. _Please bugger off. I can’t._

The man smiled down and began to unlace his breeches. The look in the stranger’s eyes made Jon’s skin crawl. _I’m not a woman, but he doesn’t care. He’ll make me into one._ It was near as terrifying as being made into a walking corpse. Jon flinched and turned away as the man knelt on the mattress in front of his face and grabbed his hair.

“At least this one has a woman’s hair,” he commented to the Queen as he tapped his cock on Jon’s forehead and forced it into his mouth. Jon restrained a disgusted gag as it hardened against his tongue. Indifferently, the blue-bearded stranger pushed it deeper, holding Jon’s head in place so he couldn’t get away. “Don’t act like you don’t know what to do, _suck it_ , boywhore.”

Jon felt a sting on his ass cheek.

“Do as he says, or answer to me!” The Queen barked through gritted teeth. She was clearly enjoying this, pounding away at his ass and showing no mercy.

Jon’s mind filled itself with the absurd notion that if he pleased this man, Daenerys might treat him more kindly. _It’s not true,_ part of him knew, _but make yourself believe it anyway._ Clinging to that false hope, Jon began to suck. The man kept his hand on the back of Jon’s head and pumped away, no differently than a man would fuck a woman’s cunt.

Everything about the act itself was repulsive. The taste, the smell, the pure contempt that radiated from the man, and the Queen’s indifference to sharing. _She says I’m hers, but she doesn’t care about me in the least,_ he realized. _She likes the power to decide what to do with me._

To his own disgust, Jon found himself trying to press his tongue against the man’s shaft and tease the head of his cock. _Don’t ask why, just do it. Survive this._ Something was oddly comforting about the man’s hand in his hair, and the low growling noise he made as he raped Jon in the mouth. The realization sickened him, but made the feeling no less comforting. He sucked harder and looked up for half a heartbeat. _Does he like it?_

The man’s thrusts grew harder and more relentless, and in an instant, he felt something hot and thick hit the back of his throat. _Just swallow it, and you won’t taste it._ Just as quickly, the man took his cock out of Jon’s mouth and released his head.

 _What have you done?!_ He berated himself. He hadn’t ‘done’ anything, other than survive, but he felt every bit as wanton as a back-alley whore, as if this was all his notion. He dropped his head onto the mattress and closed his eyes, trying once again to hide from it all.

“He’s better than most of the dregs you bring back,” he heard the man proclaim. It made Jon want to cry, but also filled him with a sense of relief that he’d at least found one thing he knew he was good at.

“Go to the docks,” Daenerys commanded the man as she pulled out, satisfied for the moment with Jon’s desecration. “Find some Westerosi. Tell them what we just did to the bastard son of Ned Stark of Winterfell.” She climbed into bed next to Jon, stroked his hair, and kissed the side of his head, tossing her cock onto the bedside table. Jon’s body was too weak to react, and his mind was too scrambled to know how he should. “If he makes it back to Westeros, I want them to know what I’ve made of him.”

The man looked down at Jon, then back at Daenerys. “Ned Stark’s the one who got his head nicked off, right?” His callous tone pained Jon to hear, but the rage and craving for vengeance that he normally felt would not come. All his mind saw was one more reason to give up hope of ever going home or being what he was. _This is what I am now._

“That’s the one,” the Queen replied.

“You’re giving yourself quite a reputation, my love,” the man smiled.

“Precisely.” She sounded quite satisfied with herself. “Now bugger off, and send in my guards and servants when you leave.”

The man smirked and gave an exaggerated bow as he turned and left. “As my Queen commands.”

The Queen stood and pulled Jon off the bed by his chains, back onto the marble floor. “Don’t grow accustomed to a comfortable bed, boywhore. You’ll never lay in one again,” she told him as he sat against the wall. She kicked him once more between his legs, then knelt, bit his earlobe, and whispered, “only when I rape you.”

Daenerys dressed herself as if Jon weren't there. She smiled as two guards entered, followed by two brown-skinned girls in simple dresses with collars around their necks. “Light the brazier,” she commanded the slaves.

She finished dressing, still paying Jon no mind. “Hold him still,” she commanded the guards once the brazier was lit. She took a small metal pole from her closet and began to heat the base over the brazier. _No, no, no, no, no, not that._

Futile as it was, Jon decided to make the guards do their jobs for a change. He sprung to his feet and sprinted toward the door, naked and chained, beaten and fucked and exhausted. He knew he couldn't charge through them, so he tried to go around them.

The guard closest to him hit him in the ribs with the butt of his spear, and knocking him off balance. The other guard caught him from behind, dragged him back against the wall, and sat behind him to hold him in place. The first guard pointed the tip of his spear between Jon’s legs. He said no words, because there was no need.

“I don’t know why you’re fighting this.” Daenerys pushed the guard’s spear away and stood over him, tapping his balls once more with her foot. “This means I shall _never_ stop tormenting you. This means you can’t buy or beg or die your way out of this. This means you’re _mine_ , and that’s the highest honor a feral bitch like you can have in its life, isn’t it?”

Her eyes widened menacingly as she nodded expectantly. Jon nodded along, his mind having given up on resisting her. She gestured wordlessly for her servants, one of whom stuffed his mouth with a rag.

Jon’s eyes went to the brand, the three-headed dragon glowing bright orange, as Daenerys Stormborn lined it up with the center of his chest, just below his throat. He thrashed against the guards and screamed into the gag, as his body made one last attempt at defiance. There was no escape.

“Eyes on me,” the Queen commanded. “Fuck your pain. I’m all that matters.”

The iron touched his chest. At first he felt nothing, then his entire body tensed and he shrieked, loud and high and terrified, like an infant. His heart raced and felt as if it were about to burst. He may or may not have pissed himself; his body was too consumed with pain to be bothered controlling it. _Bite the rag, BITE IT!!_ He closed his eyes and bit as hard as he could.

“I said _eyes on me!_ ” Daenerys shouted over his screams. Jon’s eyes snapped open and met hers. It made the pain so much worse, but he fought his own body to obey. The madness made the Queen’s eyes glow purple. _Not human._ Like the blue eyes on the monsters that he thought would be the most terrifying things he'd ever see. “You can’t do this without me,” she growled, as the tears welled in his eyes. _She’s right._ He blinked just enough to clear away the tears, and gazed up at her in pure submission. “You can do _nothing_ without me.” He felt her foot on his groin again, but that was the least of his problems. “I'm the last living god, you said it yourself. The rest have all forsaken you." _Wrong. They don't exist. You're living proof._  "I’m all you’ve got, now. Your existence begins and ends with me. Do you hear me?!”

Jon kicked his legs about and panted heavily into his gag, but summoned the strength to nod in agreement.

She stepped harder onto his cock. “I am everywhere and I know everything. You will _never_ crawl out from under me.”

He shook his head ‘no,’ violently, punishing himself for every minute of his life he’d ever lived before that moment.

“Good.” She took the brand off of him, as he breathed in the smell of his own burning flesh. “Sleep.”

Jon closed his eyes in obedience, drained of the strength to do anything else. The back of his head hit the guard’s breastplate, and it all went dark.


	4. Daenerys II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Evil Dany does Evil Dany Things.

“Slowly,” Dany commanded the guards. “Don’t wake him up.”

The soldiers opened the door to Jon’s cell as slowly and quietly as a door to a cell could open, and put their torches into the sconces on either side of the door. Dany entered to find Jon naked, in a deep sleep in the middle of the floor, on what passed for a mattress. In truth, it was little more than a large roughspun sack filled with straw, and a handful of hard, jagged rocks to dig into his back and make him beg her leave to sleep on the smooth stone floor. _Silly boy._ It had taken months of beatings to train him not to roll off the mattress while he slept, but he seemed to have finally learned the lesson.

The slave had a shackle around one ankle, tethering him to a hook in the floor. Dany motioned for the guards to roll him onto his back and shackle the other ankle, which they did. Jon stirred, but was still far from awake.

“Get him ready.”

The guards knew what she meant. One pulled Jon’s arms above his head, put his hands on top of each other, and dug the butt of his spear into Jon’s palms to pin them in place. The other took off his helmet, knelt between his legs and began to tease his cock. _He hates this,_ Dany smiled to herself. _Marvelous._

The disturbance was enough to open Jon’s eyes. His arms twitched from his instinct to reach between his legs, but the guard only pressed the spear down harder, and Jon was plainly too tired to make a fight of it. He lifted his head up just enough to see the eunuch slave’s bald head dutifully running the tip of his tongue along his slowly growing shaft. A look of disgust flashed across Jon’s face, but quickly melted into resignation as he remembered where and what he was.

“ _Sȳz ñāqes_ ,” Dany bid him good morning in High Valyrian. She had taken it upon herself to teach him the language by throwing phrases into their conversations at random, and telling him she had never slipped out of the Common Tongue; taunting and torturing him for his stupidity. It was a questionable method, at best, but highly entertaining.

In truth, it was well past midday, but this one had no business knowing things like what time of day it was. Dany had long ago found that rapes and beatings only went so far in breaking a man’s will. Jon had been hers for a year, and knew by now that it was far wiser to endure her cruelty than resist, but so long as he still remembered his life before her, and trusted that those memories were real, part of him would always be searching for a chance to reclaim himself _._ So for months, she’d denied him a proper night’s sleep, and kept him well away from the sunlight unless it pleased her otherwise.

Some days, she’d wake him at dawn; others at midday. Some days, she would only allow him an hour of sleep, force him to fight in the pits until he could barely stand, and funnel dreamwine down his gullet while it was still morning so he would sleep until the hour of the wolf. Other times, she’d make him drink tea that could keep him awake for three days. Sometimes if she’d let him sleep for a long time, she’d apologize to him for not giving him enough sleep. Or, if she’d hardly let him sleep at all, she would beat him for being so slow and lazy after a full night’s rest.

The confusion wore him down. Some days, she would ask what he remembered about the day before, and half the time he’d tell her things from his dreams. Oft as not, she wouldn't bother to correct him. Sometimes when he did remember correctly, she’d tell him it was a dream. Once, he dreamt he was back at Winterfell, and she told him the truth. A week later, she raped him for forgetting he’d been to Winterfell just a week before. The next day, she told him this _was_ Winterfell, and the day after, she feigned confusion and raped him again for making up fantastical places that didn't exist, with silly names like Winterfell.

His reality was what she chose for him that day, and nothing more. Her words were his only truth, even when they were wildly different just hours before. Winterfell had a fighting pit, and fighting for sport was all he'd ever known. He was a prisoner because he deserted the Night’s Watch. She was his wife, and raped him out of duty, though it grieved her deeply. She was a goddess, punishing him in the afterlife for murdering Eddard Stark with his bare hands. _‘Don’t you remember how he screamed as you gouged his eyes out?’_ She was Cersei Lannister, he was her brother, and this was their torrid affair.

He would never escape her. She could leave him unchained with his cell door wide open for days, and he would stay where he was; not out of fear, but because it no longer occurred to him there was a world outside his cell. It was absolute power, and it made her wetter than anything else.

Jon groaned, confused at the sounds coming from her mouth, guessing they were speech but assuming he was too stupid to understand it. She kicked him in the side of the head and ground the heel of her sandal into his cheek.

“I thought you spoke the Common Tongue. I said _sȳz ñāqes_ , yet you stare at me like a mute.”

 _“Sȳz ñāqes,”_ Jon replied in an endearingly terrible accent, plainly clueless as to what was happening.

She pressed her foot harder against his face until he winced. “Why are you speaking High Valyrian?! Who are you to defile my Mother Tongue with your mongrel grunting?! All I said was ‘good morning,’ and you're already acting the insolent little shit! Answer me properly!”

“Good morning!”

She kicked him once more. “In the Common Tongue! You _just_ said it!”

Jon paused, his mind in knots. Dany’s breathing grew heavier. The more dumbfounded he looked, the more she wanted him in her cunt. “.. _Sȳz ñāqes?_ ”

“Good. Now in Valyrian.”

“Good morning.” He was growing desperate which made her smile. She squatted, grabbed his jaw and pulled his eyes to hers.

“That’s the Common Tongue, I said Valyrian!”

“ _Sȳz ñāqes!_ Please, goddess, please don’t kill me!” Jon’s response when he was the slightest bit confused was to call her his goddess and beg for his life, even though she’d told him many times he’d never be good enough for the luxury of death. But it drenched her cunt every time he said the words, so she never bothered correcting him.

Dany looked toward his cock, good and stiff between the slave soldier’s lips. “Look at you. Your cock grows hard when I threaten to kill you.” _Even though I did no such thing._ She waved the soldier away and straddled him, lifting her dress and sliding him into her. “You’re a filthy, twisted little monster aren’t you?” She pinched and twisted his nipples. _“Aren’t you!”_ Her cunt was well ready for him, and her hips wasted no time in taking him.

“Yes, Your Radiance! Thank you for reminding me!” _Such a weak, broken little bitch today._

“That’s right,” she leaned down and kissed him softly and sweetly, to make him think she loved him, and that this was what love was like. “Nothing but flesh,” she reminded him, breaking the kiss for just long enough to get the words out. She ran her fingers through his black curls, coated with dry sweat and oil and filth, then pinched the tops of his ears between her fingernails and broke the kiss again. “Trespassing in my world. Stealing my air with every breath you draw.”

Her heart, and her hips, went faster. She kissed him again and moaned softly into his mouth. _A year ago, he hated himself for merely wondering if he’d enjoy that sound. Now he just lays here and takes his raping, as he was brought into my world to do._

The more Dany thought about that, the more lust and hunger grew in her cunt. Her grinding turned harder, more insistent, less forgiving, as she scratched her nails down over his chest. She broke the kiss again as she reached the dragon sigil that had been branded onto him, staring into his eyes and grinning when she found the pain she was looking for. “A nuisance and a criminal by your mere existence.” She slapped him. “Pray to your god for a purpose.” Her eyes could have burned through his, all the way through to the floor. She let out another moan, louder, more like a grunt, as her hips felt a sudden fury that she could only take out on his cock.

“Please, Daenerys, please, give me purpose,” Jon prayed. His voice was soft, almost loving; his tone more eager than desperate, though his eyes still showed a healthy terror. “You are the only god. All the others are lies.” A distinct sense of pleasure crept into his words as his breath turned to shallow panting. _That’s right, go on._ “My life is a crime. You are my only salvation, I know that now.”

Her body wanted nothing else but to rape the seed out of him, and her eyes told him to give it up if he wanted to live. _I don’t care about your pleasure,_ her eyes reminded him. _And I certainly don’t want your wolf-mutt child. All I want is to take one more thing away from you, and that little mess you're about to make is all you've got left. GIVE it to me!_

“You’re everything,” Jon continued, “I’m nothing. Please, goddess, please please _please_ let me live one more day!”

Dany clenched her soft little hands tightly around his neck. “Enough of those sad little whimpers coming out of your whore mouth.” She squeezed harder, so the whimpers could no longer come out of his whore mouth even if he wanted them to. “ _SHOW_ me why I should let you live!” Rage filled her voice, and hate, and the unquenchable thirst for absolute dominion over every man alive, including the one who happened to be pinned to the floor beneath her.

Jon’s eyes began to bulge. He struggled and failed to free his hands from under the guard’s spear. For good measure, the soldier stomped his foot down on Jon’s fingers. His body twitched, but Dany’s hands cut off the scream. _Mmmmm. Yes, yes, yes, yes, MORE! Break them!_

She yanked her hands up and thrust them back down, slamming the back of his head down against the floor. “You know what I want, now give it to me!” Sweat dripped down her brow onto his. She slammed his head down again. “It’s _mine_ , like everything else. Do you deny that?!” She spat in his face as it grew purple. “Maybe you _are_ just a thief. Maybe I should have killed you the day you set foot in Meereen.” She could feel his cock start to pulse inside her. _Never forget what I’ve made of you. It’s all you ever were._ She tightened her hands as hard as she could. “ _Well?!_ Are you?! Should I kill you now?!” _No. Too merciful for this one. Only the weak show mercy._ But her eyes showed him an easy willingness to murder him that very instant. _“SHOULD I?!”_

With that, his body shook violently, and he exploded into her. She released her grip to savor the feeling and allow him to flex every last drop out of his cock, like he knew he should. _Mine mine mine mine mine, ALL OF IT! GONE! MINE!_ She screamed like a beast as the thoughts and sensations overtook her, and her cunt began to throb as well.

When he was done, she slid up his body, letting his softening cock flop against his belly, no longer of use and no longer interesting. She looked up at the guard standing over them. He moved away and released Jon’s hands as she gripped his hair and took her place over his mouth.

Jon’s hands went straight to her lower back and down to her ass, caressing it with nothing but love and adoration, as if she were his loyal wife. She knew he’d do that. He knew his place was to love her deeply and unconditionally, and to be grateful for the hate, abuse, and indifference she gave back.

But Daenerys was in no mood to pretend to love this man, and her cunt meant to finish with his face what it started with his cock. “I don’t want your seed any more,” she growled down at him, twisting his hair in her fists. “How _dare_ you think this filth would please me?! Take it back. All of it.”

She rode him as if he were nothing more than a wet hole with a tongue that had been bolted to the floor. That sounded like a good idea, and she decided to look into bolting him to the floor. _His breath doesn’t matter. His comfort doesn’t matter. Nothing about him matters. Only me._

The pleasure built quickly, as Jon had learned how to read and react to her body. _Lap it up, like a back alley dog at a puddle of piss._ She would have told him that, but the only sound she could make were the enraptured gasps of the monster inside her consuming her victim. For a moment she hoped he was still stupid enough to think she wanted his baby in her. _Swallowing his own seed humiliates him. Crushing the hope I might bear him love would devastate him._ It had been too long since Daenerys Stormborn had truly devastated something. _Be patient._

That brought her to the edge, and a stroke or two of Jon’s tongue on her clit sent her over. She pressed his head against the floor, holding it in place with fistfuls of hair, marveling that she hadn't pulled it out. She screamed and thrust and smothered him with her cunt, his desperate twisting and gulps for air only plunging her deeper into the madness.

Her body relaxed as she came down, though part of her wished she still had the strength to cut off his air until he truly feared death again. _He's too good at that_. Instead, she pushed herself up to her feet and adjusted her dress.

“Unshackle him and pull him up,” Dany ordered. The guards obeyed, as she retrieved Jon’s sword and shield from the far corner of his cell. Jon stood, still naked, and scratched his head.

Dany handed him his shield awkwardly, uncertain she’d ever actually held one before. “Here.” Jon gave her a confused look, but took it anyway. Once it was safely on his arm, she put the sword in his other hand, and turned to the guards. “Open the door.”

One guard opened the door and stood next to it, but made no further movement. The other stood against the wall between Jon’s cell and the next. Dany moved to the open doorway, smiling at her naked, bewildered torture pet.

“Unsullied,” she barked in High Valyrian. Both guards stood at attention. “When I command him to kill you, fight back.” _Otherwise, they’d just stand there and die._ They tapped their spears on the ground in acknowledgment. Dany leaned casually against the doorjamb and looked to Jon, smiling and picking dirt from under her nails. She switched back to the Common Tongue. “Kill them.”

Before Jon could react, both Unsullied crouched in a defensive position behind their shields, their spears pointing toward him. They both stepped forward in perfect unison, backing him into a corner. Jon had no choice but to duck and roll along the wall, forcing them to turn in pursuit.

“I’m afraid that won’t be enough,” Dany taunted from the doorway. “They’re excellent at turning!”

Jon’s shield was small and circular, barely enough to cover from his upper thighs to his nipples. One of the guards thrust his spear out. Jon managed to dodge, and use the opportunity to charge between them, grunting stupidly. The eunuchs simply parted and let him run right back into the corner from which he’d just escaped. The other guard jabbed toward his ass, barely missing him. _That would have been quite fitting._

He managed to turn and get his shield back up just in time to block another thrust that would have gone straight through his heart. Dany smiled at him, mockingly impressed. He charged again, this time dropping to the ground as they parted. One guard stepped onto the mattress in the middle of the turn, and Jon managed to grab it and pull hard enough to throw him off balance. It sent him to the floor and knocked the spear from his grip. Jon picked it up with his shield hand and leapt at the guard who was still standing. The shield stopped him, but he landed high enough to reach over the top and thrust the spear into the eunuch’s neck.

Dany admired the back of him as he clung to the shield. His back muscles were clenched and his ass was teasing her, begging her to rape it, as it had grown to love and need, no matter what lies his mouth told.

But the rape would have to wait. The second guard had gotten back to his feet, and drawn his short sword. Jon managed to turn and put his shield up in time to block the first cut, but the sudden blow knocked him to the ground. The guard spun and went for Jon’s back, and barely missed cutting him wide open.

Jon recovered, and swords clashed blindingly as the guard pressed his advantage. Dany watched his thighs and calves flex as he struggled to blunt the guard’s advance, and smiled to herself as his cock dangled in the air, small and silly and helpless. She’d seen Jon fight enough to know that he liked to strike when the foe let his shield down, but he would have to wait hours for an Unsullied to make such a mistake. _This bores me._

“Enough dancing! Give me blood!” She shouted at both of them. “What do you think I bought you for, _kill each other!_ ”

The Unsullied paid that no mind, his body flowing effortlessly through the swings and blocks and parries that had been seared into his mind since he was a child. _I already said it once. Shouting it again won’t change anything._ But Jon seemed to pick up a second wind. He planted his body where it was, ducked the next blow instead of blocking it, and cut into the eunuch’s side.

Dany could see blood dripping to the floor, but the guard seemed not to notice it at all. His swings were as swift and flawless as when he’d first drawn his sword. The eunuch sensed Jon tiring and mounted a charge. Dany couldn’t be certain if Jon had feinted brilliantly, or if the guard had simply misjudged, but in the end it made no matter. Jon raised his shield, blunted the guard’s speed, turned, and drove his sword through his abdomen, just below the breastplate.

With no need to retrieve his sword, Jon simply let it go as the guard fell to the floor. He took a few steps backward and let himself fall back against the wall to catch his breath.

Dany stepped back into the room, smiled, and patted him on the cheek. “You’ve pleased me this morning,” she told him, though like as not it was near dusk by then. “Have you fought Unsullied before?”

Jon shook his head no, still breathless.

Dany ran her fingers over the brand on his chest, almost affectionately, but not without her ever-present malice. “Then I’m glad I did that. It should help you tomorrow, when you murder my husband.” She left without another word, snuffing the torches on her way out.

The next morning, the Queen joined her slaves as they descended the steps into the dungeon, carrying the bodies of the two dead guards who had spent the night with Jon in his cell. Her children were hungry and restless, and she wanted to remind them who gave them life and fed them. The dragons preferred to feed on men over other animals; live men, especially, but the dead eunuchs would serve well enough. One of her children smelled the human blood and let out a giddy shriek.

Dany smiled to herself. _They take after their mother._ “Hush!” She shouted, sweetly and playfully. She was in a very good mood.

The beasts emerged from the darkness, sniffing, as if that would make the meat move faster. They knew who she was, and did what they considered gentle purring and nuzzling against her, though they had grown large enough that their heads were taller than she was, and were she not their mother, their affection would have terrified her.

“Are you trying to buy my favor?” Dany laughed, petting them each between the nostrils. “I think you are.” She turned around to face the entrance, watched the slaves dump the bodies onto the floor, and waved them off. They obeyed eagerly.

Her children looked at her, uncertain if she required anything more of them before they could eat. Dany smiled and took a step back. _“Dracarys.”_ It was less a command and more a grant of permission.

Tempted as she’d been at times, Dany had not let them taste man for months. She wanted them craving it, and given what short work they made of the bodies, she reckoned it worked. “Do you remember the taste, now?” She asked once they were done. They gave no answer, of course, but sniffed around impatiently, like they’d been cheated. Dany smiled. _Then come when I call you,_ she told them silently. _Before your brother gets all the fat ones._ She petted them one more time, slid the pins from the collars, and left.

It was the last fight at Daznak’s pit for the year, and conveniently, every nobleman in Slaver’s Bay had come to Meereen to gather in one densely-packed place to watch it. Dany wondered if any of them would look back on today and curse themselves for not seeing what a plainly terrible idea that was. _Of course not. They’ll be dead._

The morning went maddeningly slow. Her slaves dressed her in her finest _tokar_ ; so fine that she despised it more than all of her other _tokars_ combined. _No more after today_ , she reminded herself. She had half a mind to let one of the dragons burn it off of her before the slaughter began, but she would not give any of those wretches the satisfaction of seeing her tits, even if it was the last thing they saw before they died screaming. For hours, she and Hizdahr received an endless stream of mincing, perfumed, boy-fuckers, listening to their blathering and her husband’s counter-blathering, laughing at bad jokes, receiving bad gifts, and drinking bad wine. _I’m doing the world a mercy by ridding it of these people._ Though that was the last mercy she meant to do anyone.

When she finally entered the pit that afternoon, the sight made her cunt stir. _This will be well worth it._ Every seat had a nobleman in it, as the influx had driven the price of admission so high that only the rich could afford it. _Take their gold, slaughter them in minutes, and make an army of their slaves._ She congratulated herself in advance as she took her customary seat in the royal viewing stand, and called for a bowl of honeyed locusts.

Dany had commanded the pitmaster to have Jon fight against the novices in the first round, though he had demonstrated more than enough skill to contend for a championship. He entertained her in other ways, and she wanted more from him than half an afternoon of bloodsport every week. Her eyes met his as he trotted out into the center of the pit. _All of this is nothing,_ she told him. _This is merely practice for far greater things. Do you see that now?_ He looked back, but averted his eyes, properly scared and beaten into humility. _You’ll see soon enough, my sweet bitch._

When the pitmaster finished his silly speech about how these were the greatest fighters anyone had ever seen, except for all the other fighters, all eyes turned to Daenerys. For the first time in her life, these nobles were actually cheering for her, and for the first time in her life, she had no qualms giving them what they wanted. _The first time, and the last._ She clapped, the crowd erupted, and Jon and the doomed men began to circle each other.

One of the Dothraki girls Dany would rape on occasion came back with her locusts, accompanied by Daario, whom Hizdahr pretended not to see. They smiled at each other, both amused at her husband’s humiliation, but they said no words. Dany nodded silently at her lover. He knew what she meant. _Seal the gates. It’s time._

With a few moments to spare, Dany popped a locust in her mouth and watched the fight. Jon was embarrassing these men, and had already spared one or two from further embarrassment by murdering them. _He’s rather good when he’s dressed and awake._ He hadn’t even bothered with a shield; just a sword, a dagger, and his absurd leather strap that covered precisely nothing of value on his body. When another weapon would suit him better, he chose from one of the corpses scattered around the pit. But there was no arrogance or showmanship to how he fought. She’d beaten that out of him, and purged him of the notion of pride.

He reminded her of an Unsullied, after a fashion. There was a cold precision to his cuts, and his body moved seamlessly from attack to parry to blocking to dodging, then back to the attack, as if he’d known each step before the fight even started. But there was a wildness to him that the eunuchs could never match. Jon was not a man to stand in the middle of a column until someone told him to march, or to hide behind a shield wall and let an enemy come to him. If she landed her army in Oldtown, he would vault off the boat and sprint across the continent, hacking and slashing his way straight to the Red Keep, and have a plate of figs ready when she got there. _Or at least that would be his plan._

In some ways, oddly enough, he reminded her of herself. She could barely swing a sword, and made no pretense otherwise, but she saw in him the same qualities that some men called madness, but she called brilliance She watched him kick some Lyseni in the back to extricate his sword, as he swung his dagger behind him at some man who thought he was being stealthy, opening the man’s belly, then turning around and taking his head off with the sword.

 _The Dragon sigil suits him._ He circled around a Summer Islander twice his size, almost bored. There was a calmness to him. A detachment. A cloak of patience that he held together by sheer will, covering a blaze of rage and ruthlessness that he unleashed only after his foes had let themselves slip into unwitting complacency, making each strike as efficient and brutal as possible. _Speaking of which…_

Dany closed her eyes. _Come. Now._ She knew it was quite possible she was mad, and they would never come, but something deep down assured her that they would. She opened her eyes just in time to see a shard of red metal burst through the Summer Islander’s back. Jon stepped away, covered in blood, as the man fell face-down in the dirt. He looked around. That was the last of them.

The pitmaster trotted out and dragged Jon over to the viewing stand, as Dany looked to the sky anxiously. _You’re not mad. Give them time._ She stood and clapped.

“Well fought!” She slapped on her broadest, Queenliest smile. “I’ve seen you before, you’re very promising!” She motioned toward a set of steps from the pit to the viewing stand. “Join me, boy! Up here, in a place of honor!” The crowd cheered at how gracious and friendly she was, and how warmly she’d embraced their culture. Jon marched up the steps, as Hizdahr shot her an angry look. _Oh, calm yourself. You’ll be dead before the next round._

Drogon came first, before Jon could sit. The Yunkai’i and Astapori looked uneasy, but the Meereenese were accustomed to seeing him circle lazily above the pit. He was drawn to the scent of blood, but his mother forbade him from troubling the crowd, and they paid him no mind. The beast let out an innocuous shriek, and the foreigners decided that if the locals weren’t bothered, they would pretend not to be as well. But she couldn’t do this with Drogon alone. There were too many people. _Hurry, Mother has a feast for you!_

The pitmaster was about to introduce the fighters for the next round when the second shriek came. _Yes, yes, yes. Now!_ The crowd went silent. It seemed some had forgotten there were more than one, and no one knew the other two were big enough to move the boulder that kept them inside the pyramid. The nobles of Slaver’s Bay all sat, stunned and frozen, as Rhaegal and Viserion joined their brother; their circles less lazy and more ominous with each turn. _Freeze, or run. Fight for your life, or beg for it. Pray, or curse your gods. It’s all the same. There is no hope for you._ Dany’s cunt was slick and throbbing.

Rhaegal and Viserion landed on either side of the viewing stand, facing Dany. Drogon planted himself directly across the pit with his back to her. All she did was nod. _Dracarys._

Flames shot past the viewing stand, into the nearest seats. The beasts started with the bottom rows and worked their way up, to stop anyone from reaching an exit. They inched away from each other, painting the stands with fire. Dany sat still, silent and unfazed, and plucked another honeyed locust from the bowl.

Hizdahr hit the floor and reached up to grab her arm, as if he meant to save her from something. “What’s happening?!”

Dany looked down, her eyes alive with the contempt she’d pretended for so long not to feel for him. “I’m slaughtering your people and taking your city.” _Was that not obvious?_

He turned his head toward his two guards. “ _Kill her!_ ” Her Majesty eyed Hizdahr’s guards. They were a poor imitation of her Unsullied, with smaller shields, no spears, and not even half the skill. She laughed dismissively, and her eyes went back to the crowd of screaming, dying men.

Jon leapt between Dany and the guards, picked up Hizdahr’s chair, and rushed the guard nearest Dany with it. It was enough to knock him down and pin him onto his back. The second was directly behind her, his sword in both hands over her head, ready to plunge straight through the top of her skull. She sensed his presence, and had herself another locust. She was about to become concerned, when she felt the soldier’s body hesitate, then twitch. _There's a dagger in his back,_ she wagered correctly. He fell to the side and his presence was replaced by Jon’s. _One more locust, and that’s all. I mustn’t grow fat._

The first guard was back on his feet. He tossed the chair to the side and charged toward Dany. Jon grabbed his arm before he could swing, but the soldier was ready, and knocked him to the side with his shield. Jon managed to land a kick, just hard enough to throw off the soldier’s swing. The blade flew down in front of Dany’s face, cutting nothing but the air. Dany swatted a fly away from her locusts. _Not enough honey on that one,_ she told herself as she put a second locust to her lips. _I can have one more. It’s the honey that makes you fat._

Jon grabbed the soldier’s face mask from behind and twisted his head back. His whole body followed, and he landed face down on the floor, dropping his sword. With his own dagger still in the first guard, Jon pulled the second guard’s dagger from his belt, rolled him onto his back, and jammed the knife into the side of his neck, slicing neatly across his throat from ear to ear.

Dany turned her head back. “And my husband!” She reminded her slave.

Hizdahr was flat on the ground, paralyzed with fear, covering his head with his hands. Jon picked up the dead guard’s sword and drove it straight through the King’s back, into the splintered wood floor of the viewing stand, pinning him in place. Dany smiled and turned back to the carnage in the stands.

The air was sweet with the smell of burning flesh. Rhaegal and Viserion had inched away from each other and were now on opposite sides of the pit, working their way around toward Drogon. Blazing bodies screamed and ran toward the exits, where crowds had built up as men tried to break the doors open. That only set more men ablaze, and sent those around them running back toward the dragons. Some men managed to jump into the pit and pick up weapons, but the beasts swatted them away with their tails, and paid no mind to the three or four spears sticking out of them.

Dany turned her head back, about to scold Jon for catching his breath too loudly, when Daario came blithely up the steps. “Him, too,” she ordered. _He’ll grow insolent without Hizdahr._

Daario either didn’t hear, or didn’t understand. “The gates are--” the rest was all gurgling. Jon wiped the sellsword’s blood from the dagger onto his thigh. _He liked that one._

Jon stood beside her, and seemed for the first time to notice what was happening around him. He took a step back and gripped the back of Dany's chair, his face turning to horror. _Does it truly surprise you that I'm capable of this?_

“They won’t hurt you,” Dany sighed, despite having spent a full year teaching him that anything could hurt him grievously, whenever it suited her whim. She nudged him with her elbow and looked up, offering him the bowl. “Here. Have a locust.”

When the last of the nobles were dead, Dany hopped down into the pit and had Drogon burn off the door to the exit with the fewest charred corpses in front of it. Jon followed, and she left her children to their feast. Her litter and Queensguard found her outside the pit, led by Grey Worm.

“Seize the ships and prepare them for war,” she commanded. “If there are slaves on board, keep the useful ones and slaughter the weak. Treat the healers well, as we’ll need many once we sail. Do the same for every pyramid in the city. Take everything of value and bring it to me.” She looked back at Jon. “Oh, and return the black-haired one to his cell.” Grey Worm nodded and barked ordered to his men, as Dany rode off in her litter.

That night, after the dragons woke from their post-gorging nap, Dany once again summoned the black-haired one to her terrace. He found her on the side that faces away from the bay, toward the inland mountains. She had long since dispensed with the _tokar_ and wore simple breeches and a linen blouse. “You’ve been asleep for a full day, do you know that?” She lied, as he stumbled out in his manacles, naked. It had been four hours, at most. Two new guards hovered behind him.

“I’m sorry,” he replied. He’d come to assume that if she told him he did something, he should apologize for it. _So formidable in the pits, but a walking piss puddle the instant he's alone with me._ That was intentional, of course.

Dany smiled and pushed herself away from the parapet. “I rule this city now, do you understand that?”

Jon nodded.

“All of Slavers’ Bay, for that matter.” She walked toward him, her hands folded behind her back. “If the rest of the world is smart, they’ll bend the knee. If not, they’ll burn. Until there is no living creature left in this world who doesn’t dread me every bit as much as you do.” Her purple eyes glimmered in the torchlight, her face beaming like another girl her age might tell a friend how she’ll someday marry a gallant knight. _I’m not another girl my age._

When she reached him, Dany leaned forward and slowly licked the dried blood of a dozen men from his chest. _Salty. More._ Carnage made her juices flow, in her mouth and elsewhere. Jon looked down at her, doing his best to show ample dread, though it took little effort. She looked up as her tongue ran over his Dragon brand, enjoying the roughness and making no effort at all to hide the malice and bloodlust that filled her. She teased his collarbone with the tip of her tongue, then sank her teeth into the fleshy part of his neck.

The guards held him in place, but only loosely. He wouldn't move. He knew what would happen if he did. She grabbed him by the balls and clenched her fist around them, tearing into his neck until she broke skin. Everything about it was bliss. Jon’s balls trying and failing to retract and escape her grip. His hot, fresh blood as it flowed into her mouth like the juice of a ripe fruit. The loud, plaintive whimpering of a man so thoroughly ground into the dust that he would stand still and offer himself while she literally consumed his body; her only concession being to let him grit his teeth and cry.

Dany could have drank until her belly was full, but that would have killed him. _Enough._ She released him. “It took my forebears a thousand years to destroy the Ghiscari Empire the first time,” she told him as she strolled past him. Her guards turned him around and pushed him so he walked abreast with her. “I did it in an afternoon.”

“The world is yours to take.” It was one of the facts she’d taught him. He liked to show off how much he knew.

She smiled to herself. “They scorched and salted the earth. They burned Ghis to the ground and put its people to the sword. But they missed some, clearly.” The city came into view as they rounded the corner and paralleled the Skahazadhan. Her three children played above the water. “I won’t make the same mistake.”

“The Ghiscari are mongrel savages and should be purged from the world,” Jon recited to her. _Smart boy._ Dany had decided while snacking on a persimmon one morning that she was the sole heir to the Valyrian Freehold, and owed a duty to her forebears to enslave the lesser races and wipe out those that refused to submit; the Ghiscari chief among them. _Fuck my forebears, I owe them nothing,_ she immediately counter-argued. In that case, she would do it because the lesser races annoyed her.

“They should, and they will,” Dany smiled. “And you shall bear witness.”

They rounded the next corner to the side that faced the bay directly. It was a beautiful evening, and the stars were out. Lights burned in the houses below, as if nothing of note had happened that day, though Dany knew her whole city was overcome with terror. Were she not so eager to raze it down to nothing, she may have savored that.

Without warning, Dany turned and punched Jon straight in the cock and balls. “Drop him,” she ordered the eunuchs. “Bar, rope, plug, collar, cane, and dagger. _Now._ ” The guards hurried inside to do as she bid, as Jon writhed on the floor.

She kicked him in the groin, because his beauty made it so hard to resist, and let the toe of her boot come to rest in front of his face. He nuzzled against it, like a kitten. _That’s too good to only do once._ So she did it twice. _Bugger it, thrice._ He was just as sweet and grateful the third time as he was the first. “Good, now clean your filth off.”

Jon had just finished licking up his own cock sweat, and whatever else she'd stepped in recently, when the guards came back with her toys.

“Pick him up.” When he was on his feet, Dany kicked his legs apart and crouched down.

“Bar.” The bar had shackles on both ends. Dany locked his ankles into them, stopping him from closing his legs.

”Collar.” The collar went on backwards, so the rope would attach to the back of his neck instead of the front.

She held him in place with only her eyes, as the guards dealt with the rope. Once they tied it to the collar, they threaded it through a pulley high on the wall, above a metal loop that had been fixed to the side of the pyramid.

“Walk.” She kicked Jon’s heel. It was more a waddle than a walk, but it served its purpose. Jon’s wrists were still bound in front of him. He looked at her like a sad puppy when he reached the parapet.

Dany rolled her eyes and looked back at the guards. “Hold the rope.” She leaned down, pulled Jon’s legs up by the bar, and planted his feet halfway off the far edge of the parapet. Jon was not silly enough to move.

The guards slowly let the rope slack, tipping Jon farther over the edge. She stopped them when it was clear to him that a fifty foot drop onto another seven hundred feet of steep, solid marble would be an unpleasant way to die, but kept him close enough to upright that she could still land a hard blow to his upper back with a two-handed swing of the cane.

“This will serve, tie it here. Give me the dagger.” The guards tied the rope in place through the metal loop in the wall, and handed her the knife. Dany hopped up onto the parapet.

She teased him with the dagger, pressing the tip into his earlobe until a drop of blood came out, then running it gently under his cheekbones until it almost felt good, and finally putting it to his throat. “Why are you afraid?” She whispered in his ear, sweetly and seductively, licking a drop of blood from his earlobe as he stared straight ahead and quivered. “I’m just resting it there. If I meant to kill you, I’d cut the rope.” She paused. “Like this.” Dany removed the dagger from his throat and pulled down on the rope until Jon was almost upright again, then released it so he fell forward; stopping only when the rope tensed. She watched for a flinch and a gasp, and got it. “Don’t make me kill you. My children are coming, they shouldn’t see such violence.”

Giddily, Dany jumped back onto the terrace and took from her guard a black plug that looked like a large wine stopper with a smooth but pointed tip and a flared base. From the corner of her eye, she spotted the dragons turn inland toward the pyramid. Wordlessly, she opened the guard’s face mask and forced the plug down his throat, pressing it deeper, deeper, deeper, until he finally gagged. _This one is in the wrong trade._ She flipped the mask shut, just as the dragons arrived. The two smaller ones sniffed at Jon curiously, wondering if Mother meant to give them another treat, but they backed off when she climbed back up onto the parapet and stood next to him, teasing his ass with the tip of the plug, coated in the eunuch’s slobber.

Drogon arrived last, making straight for Jon. “I have yet to introduce you to the big black one,” she smirked as she pressed the plug against his boy cunt, well aware of the double meaning. The beast flapped himself into a hover just in time to avoid hitting him, and gave Jon an annoyed snort and a low growl.

Dany spotted a stream dripping down from between Jon’s legs as Drogon sniffed at him, strongly enough to make Jon’s hair blow. “You’re in his spot,” she explained, mockingly angry. When he finished his involuntary piss, she slid the plug into him, giving it a firm slap with her palm to make certain it was all the way in. Jon winced, closed his eyes, and turned his head away, from equal parts fear and pain.

“Stop it. If he wanted to eat you, he'd be shitting you out over the bay by now.” She slapped his ass as it clenched around the plug. “He knows you’re mine, and you’re far too stringy. Now open your eyes.” Jon turned his head in the general direction of Drogon, but could not bring himself to obey. _He’s that terrified._ That satisfaction undid her annoyance at having to repeat herself.

Dany slid her dagger under Jon’s ass and tapped the back of his balls with the tip. “Weak bitch, I said _open your eyes!_ ”

Jon opened his eyes as Drogon stared back with only one of his. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”

Dany wondered if he was apologizing to her for his insolence, or to Drogon for taking his spot. She hoped it was the latter. _That would be adorable._ Satisfied, she removed the dagger. “Enough games. Watch them, while I beat you.”

She waved her children away from the parapets. “ _Jikagon! Dracarys! Mirre hen ziry!_ ” _‘Go! Burn it! All of it!’_ The dragons kicked themselves off of their perches and flapped away. Dany retrieved her cane and dismissed the guards, preferring to be alone with her victim.

“You seemed surprised at the pit today.” She started off with a firm but lazy swat at his ass, knowing that on nights like tonight, the madness would quickly flood her mind and body unless she paced herself. “Why?” _That’s a silly question,_ she knew, but she liked to see him struggle to answer the obvious.

“I didn’t--I didn’t know--” He screamed and sucked his breath through his teeth as the cane hit him again.

“ _What_ didn’t you know?!!” _Fuck pacing myself._ Dany lifted the cane back over her left shoulder with both hands and swung with all her might at the left side of his ribcage. “ _SPEAK!_ ”

“That you would--”

She couldn’t be bothered to let him finish. Panicked babbling bored her. She wanted the crack of wood on flesh so loud it sounded like bones breaking. She wanted it louder, until it could be nothing else. She wanted screaming and sobbing, gasps of terror, moans of agony. She wanted to tear this man down to nothing, as her children were doing to her city, as her forebears should have done five thousand years ago, and as she would do to the rest of the world.

“ _Shut your whore mouth!_ ” Dany swung the cane again and hit the exact same spot. The muscles in her back and shoulders tensed and flexed, and her wrists sent the cane blindingly fast against the bitch’s ribs. Without waiting for him to bleat and whine and beg, she swung the cane over the other shoulder and did the same his right side. But she had always been more comfortable on the left.

 _Harder, then!_ She lifted her left leg as she swung the cane back, adding to the force as her weight came back down. _More! Again!_ She broke skin the second time. _MORE!_ The next blow landed so perfectly in the fresh open wound that she could have finished herself with her fingers just from the sight of it. _You are the Dragon, you are a god, you’ve killed thousands and you’ve just begun, it’s your birthright, FUCKING MORE!!_ She lifted the cane directly behind her head and brought it down between his shoulder blades; her whole being devoted to nothing in that moment but destroying this man’s body.

That one broke the cane. Furious, Dany tossed it over the ledge. “Bring me a new one!!” She bellowed behind her. She assumed someone would hear, and that any man who valued his life would be tripping over himself to bring her a new cane.

While she waited, she strode toward the moaning, sobbing Jon and leapt back onto the parapet, grabbing his hair with one hand and pointing the tip of her dagger just under his eye with the other. “Look at what I am.” She guided his face across the city skyline with only a hint of pressure on the dagger. The two smaller dragons had gone to work on a slum near the edge of the city, where the sewage from the pyramids emptied into the Skahazadhan. “Look at what happens to _anyone_ who won’t heed me!”

One of her Dothraki rape puppets came back with the cane. Dany put the knife down on the ledge, leaving Jon to contemplate what he was witnessing, and snatched the cane from the girl’s hand. Before she could turn away, Dany grabbed her arm and flung her toward the parapet, whacking her on the ass to urge her along.

Dany kicked her boots off, unlaced her breeches without even realizing it, and stepped out of them. The woman who was now styling herself Empress of the Realms of Men took the girl who’d had the name beaten out of her and pushed her against the ledge about twenty feet away from Jon. She tossed her blouse behind her, lifted the girl’s dress, mounted her thigh, and took it. The girl had the gall to squeal and try to squirm away. Dany grabbed her by the neck with one hand, and put the other over her nose and mouth.

“Hush, sweetling,” Dany stared into the girl’s eyes as she used her body as a toy for her cunt. “I won’t hurt you. Promise you won’t scream and I’ll take my hand away, can you do that for me?”

The girl nodded silently, to show how good she could be. Not that it mattered if she screamed; Dany simply liked the power.

“Good, that’s what a good slave sounds like, isn’t it?” Dany ran her fingers through the girl’s hair, then pulled her in for a kiss. Softly, sweetly, passionately, the women gasped and panted as their lips and tongues danced with each other. She knew it wouldn’t be long, and slid her fingers into the girl’s cunt.

“I saw you and I simply had to take you as mine…” Dany told her, breathlessly. “I couldn’t resist you...I think I might love you.”

The girl moaned as Dany worked out how to stroke and tease her.

“Would you like to share my bed?” She nodded, in case the girl wasn’t already certain. “Would you like a special place among my slaves? Yes?” Suddenly she felt her body grow wild. “Yes? _Yes?!_ ”

The girl moaned softly and nodded obediently, looking up into Dany’s eyes in awe and adoration. They pressed their foreheads together as Dany felt the pleasure overtake her. For as hot as her blood was, it was a quick, simple thing, like how a man would do it. No drawn-out screams, or declarations of love or lust or ownership; only some grunting, and a few final thrusts to remind the girl who’d fucked her.

Dany stopped moving and took her fingers out of the girl’s cunt. The girl looked eager and hungry, thinking it was her turn. She put her hand behind Dany’s head and guided it between her legs.

“Yes, yes, _Khaleesi_ , I’m so wet, please…”

Dany crouched, ready to grant the girl’s wish, lifted her legs to place them on her shoulders, then stopped, stood, and calmly tossed her backwards over the parapet. The girl shrieked as she fell. _She should have paced herself._ Satisfied with the blood that splattered from the back of her head as the girl hit the marble below, Dany licked her fingers, picked up the new cane, and made her way back to Jon, not bothering to dress.

The words and the cane hit him at the same time, to snap him out of his own feeble mind. “ _What do you see?!_ ” She asked as the cane hit his ass. There was much to see. The slum was a cluster of cheap wooden hovels; the flames had engulfed it completely, and were beginning to spread. Her children had moved on to the Temple of the Graces. Drogon shot a flame through the bell tower to stop the incessant ringing, while the other two set to work on the foundation.

“I--I see you burning the city! Taking what’s yours! Slaughtering lesser men!”

“Good!” She hit him again. “What else!”

“Dragons!”

And again, far harder than he expected. “Too obvious! What else!”

“A city turning to dust because you willed it!” Not a bad answer, though she could tell he was just saying whatever he thought she wanted to hear. “The world learning to tremble before you!” _At least he knows what I want to hear._

She hit him once more, then dropped the cane, and jumped back up next to him on the ledge. “No.” She unlocked his manacles and tossed them off the ledge. “Beyond.” She grabbed his cock with one hand and began to stroke, pointing toward the horizon with the other hand. “What do you see?!”

He hesitated. “....The water! The bay! You own it, I don’t know, please tell me, please I beg you, please, goddess, please, don’t kill me.” _And we’re back to ‘please don’t kill me.’ Has your mind always gone to waste this quickly when a woman touches your cock?_

Once he was hard, Dany kicked the bar that held his legs open so his feet were dangling off the edge. He flailed around and grabbed his neck, convinced this was it.

“Enough of this.” She picked up the dagger and grabbed the rope, slicing frantically, madly.

“No no no no _please don’t!_ I’ll learn, I promise, _please don’t!_ ”

When the rope was frayed down to its last threads, she put her arms under his and yanked backwards. The rope snapped, and Jon screamed, but to his shock and confusion, his ass landed on top of the parapet.

Dany let herself fall backward onto the terrace, but landed on her feet. She jumped back up and swung her legs around Jon, his cock still good and hard from the fear, as she knew it would be.

“I said _look!_ Out there!” She shouted as she mounted him and took him inside her.

Jon looked over her shoulder. “I don’t know, what do I see?!”

She grabbed his face and pulled it back to her, pressing her forehead against his, her stare piercing straight through to the back of his skull. “It's home! Don't you see it?!  _Don't you?!_ ” Her eyes blazed and engulfed him, blinding him to everything else. She took his face in her hands and gasped softly as her hips went to work. “I’m taking you _home_ with me.”


	5. Jon II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loyalties are tested.

Jon felt the guards push down on his shoulders. He knew he was sitting, and he knew it hurt, but the hood over his head prevented him from seeing anything else.

“Tie him.” Her voice had seared itself into his mind.

The chains around his wrists and ankles came off, replaced immediately by rope, fastening him where he was. _Cold. Sharp._ He realized he was naked.

“Good. Leave us.”

The silence after the guards left went on for some time. The only sounds were his own grunts as he fidgeted in search of a comfortable spot. Suddenly the hood came off.

Jon was fairly certain he'd never been in the room before, but he could only see bits and pieces of it. Daenerys loomed over him, in a black steel breastplate with the three-headed dragon in rubies on her chest, to match the burnt skin on his.

“It’s the one true King of Westeros!” Her Majesty grinned broadly, mockingly curtsied, then spat in his face and gave him a hard, open-palmed slap.

She crouched, and Jon looked down the steps toward the back of the huge, empty room, finally realizing where he was. _She’ll kill me for sitting in her chair._ The Empress took the chain that had bound his legs together, and wrapped it around the back of his neck. “Who are you!?”

 _You know this. Speak!_ “My name is Jon Snow, I’m the bastard son of Eddard Stark of Winterfell.” Jon was fairly certain that was true. _Her word is the only truth. Insolent little shit._

Daenerys said nothing. She coiled the chain around his neck and tugged on either end, cutting his air off. “Louder!” She pulled the chain tighter and thrust a boot heel between his legs. “Who was your _fucking_ father?!”

Jon opened his mouth. His body allowed him only to gasp for air, and his mind berated him for failing to get the words out. _That’s your fault. She asked you a question! Speak! How dare you try to breathe her air! You deserve everything she’s ever done to you!_

She pressed down on his balls like she were crushing a roach. “Are you a mute now? I don’t remember giving you leave to become a mute.” She loosened the chain just enough to allow him a gasp of air.

“Eddard Stark!” He heaved and hunched over as much as the ropes would let him. “Of Winterfell!” His hands gripped the arms of the Throne; his body barely supporting itself.

She slapped him. “Who killed him?!”

The sting was painful, but at least allowed him to breathe more. _Thank you, Your Majesty._ “I did!” His memory of it was foggy, but grew clearer every time she asked him. It was heinous. _The North remembers what I did. They’d have my head if I ever went back._

She hit him again, with her backhand. “How?!”

“I deserted the Night’s Watch! I entered Winterfell disguised as a singer and murdered him in his sleep! I slit Lady Catelyn’s throat and gouged his eyes out when he woke up!” It was quite gruesome, he’d been told.

She pinched his nose and jerked his head back, so all he could see was her eyes glaring down at him, burning him from the inside. “Then what happened?”

“I fled!” His voice sounded strange, as he was forced to breathe through his mouth. _You are human filth. Look in her eyes and tell her the truth._ “Lady Sansa sent men hunting for me!”

“What next?”

He breathed one more time before he answered. _Please forgive me._ “I was rescued, by Her Majesty’s divine grace!” He remembered that part. Not at first, but Daenerys helped him, by denying him sleep until his mind’s eye could see the truth, clear as day. _‘Sleep brings dreams, and dreams are lies,’_ she told him. She was right. _I owe her everything._

It was all crystal clear, now; how she emerged from the fog in the Wolfswood with her soldiers. How he threw himself at her feet, holding onto her legs, sobbing and pissing himself and pleading for mercy as her guards slew the Northmen chasing him. How he swore himself to her, forever and ever. How she took him to Meereen, far away from his sister’s reach. She made him a hero in Meereen. His crimes made him unworthy of life or love or comfort, but she gave him all of it in spite of his being a traitor’s bastard, and an oathbreaker, and a craven, and a kinslayer. _She is merciful, and I must never forget it._

He began to cry as he gazed up at her, recounting all of it, babbling like the half-wit he was. His body gave out, offering itself to her in a wordless, eternal surrender.

Daenerys cracked a smile, released his nose, and tightened the chain once again around his neck again. “So true, and you've served me so well.” _No, Your Majesty. I will never be worthy of you._ Jon nodded and wallowed in his weakness, as he often did. Losing himself in her eyes was like slipping into a warm bath; cleansing him of his will to be anything more than her creature, or to know anything about the world she didn't see fit to tell him.

After a few seconds came the boot to the chest. Her Majesty pressed so hard that Jon thought she would crush him. She pulled the ends of the chain closer to her, pressing him against the back of the Throne, squeezing his neck even tighter. His face felt warm, as his blissful submission turned to terror, then to contrition for whatever he'd done to make her wroth, then to gratitude for her refusal to abide it. He could feel the metal pressing into the skin of his neck, dragging against it, pinching him, marking him, so the world would know what he was. That sent him back to bliss, because that was what bliss meant to him, now.

Jon sensed a hunger in the way she looked at him; her eyes alight with lust and fury and something else she felt in moments like these that he would never understand. Her breathing was heavier, and she was almost blushing.

“You’ll die here, if I let you.” She grinned down at him smugly, and pressed her boot heel harder into his chest. “Should I let you?”

 _No. Yes._ He didn’t even know any more. “If it would please Your Majesty. You are all that matters.”

 _“Iksan aōha mērī kaerīnio,”_ she declared loudly, and raised an expectant eyebrow.

“You are my only savior,” he managed to squeeze out.

_“Iksan aōha mērī Jaes.”_

“You are my only god.” She reminded many times a day, so he wouldn’t forget. _‘Bad things happen to those who forget,’_ she’d taught him, and she was too kind to let bad things happen to him. _I’m not grateful enough for her kindness. I must stop being such an ingrate._

“We’re not in Meereen anymore,” she went on. “In Meereen, no one cared who you were. But there’s a Northern army building siege towers outside the city. The North remembers, and they’re the only ones left to oppose me.”

She tugged at the chain around his neck. “You came to me a curiosity, but now you’re a burden. Maybe I shouldn't shield you anymore. Maybe I should give the Northerners what they want. Maybe I should put your head on a spike on the city walls and let them see what a benevolent Empress does to those who betray them.” Jon felt the world growing darker. “They would _flock_ to my cause. Even Lord Ramsay would bend the knee. Lady Sansa would demand it. You betrayed and murdered her father. Why wouldn't she?”

She suddenly let go of the chain, dropped to her knees, and ran her soft, delicate hands up his thighs. Jon looked down as she teased his cock, first with her hands, then her tongue, then her mouth. _It doesn't mean she feels anything for you. It means that today it pleases her to take you into her mouth. She may finish you. She may bite it off. You have no right to ask which it will be._

The words came to his mind naturally and unprompted. They'd been beaten into him, and proven many times over. Sometimes she did finish him. Sometimes she stopped just before he reached his peak, then raped him bloody. Sometimes she put a splinter of wood into the hole and twisted it back and forth while he writhed and shrieked and begged her to stop.

He believed the words she taught him. The sensations were their own form of torment. They tempted him to forget his place, and how brutal Her Majesty could be. Sometimes he wished he felt nothing, but she never granted him that luxury. Her mouth was warm and soft and wet. Her tongue slid up his shaft and around the head, the pleasure terrifying him so deeply that it may as well have been the tip of a dagger.

She stopped and looked up, wantonly, like she looked at the men she took as paramours. “Come to think of it, if I murdered you, I could bring this whole continent to heel without shedding a drop of blood.”

 _Then please, Your Majesty, mount my head on the walls._ He couldn't bear to think that his wasteful, undeserved life was the only thing keeping her from taking what was hers. He was about to say the words when she took him back into her mouth. The pleasure was too great, and he threw his head back and closed his eyes while she sucked. _No, keep them open. Look in Her Majesty’s eyes. Let them drain you of your will to live, so she may--_

But before he could finish the thought, his mind went blank again. Her lips pressed tightly against his shaft as she once again dragged her mouth upward, leaving him desperately missing it when she finally pulled away.

“Think of how many lives you'd save if you died this instant.” She smiled and stroked him, her fingers deftly teasing the head of his cock and keeping him wanting more. _More of her words. More reasons to beg her to kill me._ "Such a fitting atonement for all of the terrible things you've done.” _Yes._ “Think of how much better it would be for all of us.” _So much better._ She was leading his mind into a terrible abyss, and he knew it, and could do nothing to stop it.

Daenerys rose and unlaced her breeches. “Or maybe you're more useful as a hostage,” she mused as she dropped them to her ankles. “Maybe I can trade you to Lord Ramsay for his fealty.” _Yes,_ he thought, not because that would buy him a few more hours of life, but merely because she said it. _Her word is the only truth._

Further thoughts escaped him, as her cunt slid over his cock. He felt her pick up the ends of the chain and tighten it again; not to choke him this time, but to pull his mouth toward hers.

“Would you like that?” She whispered when their lips were almost touching. He could have leaned forward and kissed her. Part of him desperately wanted to. She'd given him life when by rights she should have murdered him. She'd shown him the ways of the world, and purged him of his false gods. How could he not love her? How could he not crave her?

 _Kiss her without her leave and she'll bite your tongue off._ So he kept his head where it was, and nodded dutifully. “If it pleases Your Majesty.” His voice was quiet and shaking.

She leaned in and put her lips to his. “Good,” she said softly as they kissed.

“I love you,” he whispered back, stupidly. The words simply hung in the air, but they were true, and he felt no fear of the consequences.

Her lips pulled back into a smile. “You're nothing to me.” She ran her fingers through his hair and kept kissing, with no trace of pity or remorse.

That hurt more than he thought it would, though it was silly of him to expect anything else. _Thank you, Your Majesty. I brought the pain upon myself._

Just as he began to savor the kiss, she leaned forward and pushed his head back against the Throne. He gasped and shook his head violently as she sank her teeth hard into his tongue, drawing blood as she'd surely intended.

Daenerys put her hands on his forehead and pried his eyelids open with her thumbs. _Don't look away. She wants to see the pain._ Her breathing grew heavier and her pace more frenzied. He tasted blood in his mouth and felt her sucking and drinking it into hers, as her pupils widened, lusting at his terror and agony. He twitched and gripped the arms of the Throne. His screams grew wilder, more frantic the longer his tongue remained trapped between her teeth. When she let go, he could feel the blood pouring into his mouth, and his tongue already swollen. His screams melted to whimpers, as she tightened the chain again until his breath became wheezing.

“ _Shut up,_ ” she growled, as her rhythm grew more intense. Jon could sense that her body was moving on its own will. The Throne was barely wide enough for her legs to fit on either side of him, and the jagged metal was making her knees and shins bleed. But as far as he could tell, she couldn’t feel it. _Does she even feel pain? Does she like it?_ Jon suspected it was the chair itself that made her like it. _She’s wanted it her whole life. It’s the embodiment of power. She’s marking it. She’s proving that it can’t hurt her._

Her body grew stiff and her back arched. He could feel her cunt tightening around him, as the chain dug into his neck. She let out a piercing scream as her body hurtled toward its peak, though she never took her eyes away from his, and she stayed eerily quiet as she took her pleasure, preferring to simply watch Jon and his purple face and bloody mouth. _She’s saving it for something else._ Jon couldn’t be certain what she had in mind, but he knew it would be far worse than a bloody tongue. _Best not think about it._ There was a strange sense of freedom in that.

She finished, removed the chain, and stood back, biting her lower lip, and admiring his helpless body and throbbing cock as he gasped for air. “You’ll finish later,” she informed him as she lifted her breeches from her ankles. “I want you good and angry today,” Blood dripped from her legs, but she ignored it.

 _Please her. It’s all that matters._ “Thank you, Your Majesty.” The frustration washed over him, but he felt almost guilty for it. _Selfish bastard._ Had she not told him she wanted him angry, he would have confessed his lust and begged her to beat it out of him. But anger was her command, so anger was what he felt.

“Stay here,” Daenerys ordered, as if he had a choice. She strolled wordlessly down the steps to the side entrance, leaving him bound and scared and still rock hard. He realized his back was bleeding from the barbs of the Throne, which only kept him hard longer. _This is what she wants. This is pleasure._

Jon could not say how much time passed, but he noticed the sunlight coming through the windows from a different angle when Her Majesty finally returned. He realized he’d been staring blankly in front of him for however long she’d been gone. _Time is not yours to concern yourself with._ Her guards followed her, each holding a bucket. One was filled with water, and the other with what he hoped was some kind of stew.

“Let him stand, but keep him tethered by one ankle.” She watched as her guards did her bidding, and planted her ass on the Throne once they'd pulled him off. “Feed him.” She crossed her legs and stared straight ahead, ignoring him, gripping the arms of the Throne until her knuckles were white. Her face was flush, and her look was the same one she’d get when she raped him.

The guards pushed him down to all fours and shoved his face into the bucket of stew. Jon suddenly realized how starved he was, and began to devour it. He was well aware of how he looked, but freed from the notion of dignity. _You’d starve if you protested,_ he knew. _You’re eating because she destroyed your will to protest. She always knows what’s best._ Everything she did put him deeper in awe of her.

“Eat, bitch, you'll need your strength.” Daenerys smiled down at him contemptuously, then looked back at one of the guards. “Send in the lords.”

Several men entered and prostrated themselves at the base of the steps. Each of them saw Jon, but quickly averted their eyes. Her Majesty bid them rise. “I trust you’ve brought me more?”

One of them looked back toward the entrance and shouted something, but Jon was too preoccupied with sucking the rancid stew down his gullet to hear what he said. More soldiers entered, kicking and pushing a handful of men in front of them. They were well-dressed, and looked as if they had once been proud men. _Highborn._ They still wore swords on their belts, but their hands were chained behind their backs. Each man had a collar around his neck, all linked together by a single chain. Their eyes lingered on Jon for longer than the first group of men. _Don’t look at me. This is the way of the world, now. Accept it, or die screaming._ He’d seen her do worse for lesser crimes.

They seemed to sense their Empress growing impatient, and turned their eyes to her. Each man was stripped of his sword and pushed down to both knees. One of the soldiers who brought them in collected their swords and ascended the steps, dumping them at Her Majesty's feet like a bundle of twigs. She looked at them, bored, and waved them away.

Daenerys turned back to Jon, then to the guard standing over him. “Give him water. Make certain he drinks it all.”

The guard yanked Jon's head up and put the bucket of water to his lips. “Drink,” he commanded, in his heavy accent. Jon gulped, struggling to keep up as the guard slowly tipped the bucket higher and higher, denying him any respite.

Daenerys seemed satisfied and turned back to the men at the base of the steps. “I'll hear their oaths now.”

With their noses to the floor, and spears pressed against the backs of their heads, her newest bannermen recited the words that had been tortured into their minds over the fortnight they’d spent in the black cells. They pledged absolute and unquestioning loyalty to her alone, no matter how terrible her commands, under penalty of death or worse. They waived the right to trial on behalf of themselves and their people, irrevocably, and for all crimes past and future. They forsook their gods and promised to put all septs and temples in their lands to the torch. They pledged to turn over every living man in their armies and bring them to the capital with their wives and children. The healthy would be auctioned, and the sick and wounded burned alive in the Dragon Pit. They promised not to let their children marry without her leave, and to let her take the groom, or the bride, or both for herself, if she so commanded.

Jon felt his belly grow full of water until he could finally take no more. He pulled his face away from the bucket and coughed up his last mouthful. Her Majesty turned away from her bleating captives and glared down.

“ _DRINK!_ ” Her voice was painfully loud and echoed off the walls. _She's drunk on power._ She was at her worst when she was like that. Jon drank again, but it was not long until he retched into the bucket. All he could hope was that it amused her enough to make up for his insolence. _You failed. You always fail. You don’t deserve her mercy._

She rolled her eyes, annoyed, and turned back to the trembling lords as Jon went on coughing and heaving. “Go on.”

The men finished their oaths, and began to quiver, cry, and beg for mercy. _You stood between her and her birthright. She will give you no such thing._ Her Majesty said nothing, but motioned for the guards to yank back on the chain that linked their collars so they could kneel upright.

“Has Lord Ramsay agreed to treat with me?” She asked one of the lords who had earned the privilege of standing.

“He has, Your Majesty. The parlay is set for this afternoon.”

Daenerys nodded. “Tell him to bring his best swordsman. Take the new lords to the bailey and have them fight each other to the death. The last man living shall have the others’ lands, incomes, and their wives and children to slaughter, rape, or sell as he deems fit.” She rose, and took the bucket of water and vomit from Jon’s guard.

“ _You,_ ” she commanded as she poured it over his head and placed it on top of him like a helm, “shall clean up this mess you made on my floor, and dress for battle.” Bored, the Empress took her leave.

For Jon, “dressing for battle” in Westeros meant little more than riding boots, a breastplate, and a leather skirt that went halfway down to his knees, with some useless ringmail draped over it. With Hizdahr and the fighting pits a distant memory, Daenerys had given up all pretense of wanting him to look like anything but a festooned boywhore. “I want my men to look at you and see a rabbit on a spit,” she’d told him once. A few times, she watched as her Dothraki took turns making him feel like one, while two slave girls serviced her cunt.

The parlay was to take place in a field just outside the city walls. Jon and Her Majesty arrived with her ever-present eunuch slave soldiers, and her bloodrider Jhogo. Lord Bolton met them with his retinue of guards, some creature in roughspun who looked vaguely familiar, and his wife, Lady Sansa. Jon locked eyes with her, but they both looked away. That surprised Jon. Considering what he’d done to her father, he’d expected an unyielding, icy gaze. He couldn’t say what it was, but something made him want to draw his eyes back to her. He could sense she wanted to as well, but it was not his place to look at things without her leave.

“You’re pudgier than I’d imagined,” Lord Bolton started, after a brief but awkward silence.

“I haven’t wasted my time imagining you.” Daenerys’ voice was monotone. _She’s consumed with bloodlust,_ Jon knew. It was her plainest giveaway.

Ramsay laughed. “I suppose you’ve wasted a great deal of time imagining the North, though. It’s vast, and beautiful, and it will never be yours.”

“That’s what I’ve been told about everything else that’s mine. Why do you think you’ll be any different? You’re outnumbered five to one, and that doesn’t even include the men marching from Harrenhal to take you in the rear. And, of course…” She looked up at the sky. One of the beasts screeched. Nothing further need be said.

“Oh, you would crush me, without question,” Ramsay freely admitted.

Her Majesty smiled. “I’m glad we’re in agreement, then.”

“But you could kill me right here, and you’ll still never have the North. _Winter is coming_ , or so I’ve been told. Try sending your shirtless savages to collect taxes in forty-foot snows. See what happens. You can take the land, but you’ll never hold it. For that, you need me.”

Daenerys was unimpressed, but seemed to have expected that. “And for what price will you sell yourself to me?”

“I’m not for sale, my lady. The North isn’t for sale. Kill me here, if it pleases you. Or, if you prefer, I can throw my men against your walls and let them all die that way. Makes no matter to me. But my advice would be to spare yourself the battle, grant us safe passage home, and do as you please with the rest of the Seven Kingdoms.”

“I’d prefer not to,” Her Majesty replied.

“Women do many things for me they’d prefer not to,” Ramsay answered. Lady Sansa shifted in her saddle.

Daenerys ignored the jape. “I hear you’re a sporting man, Lord Bolton.”

Ramsay smiled. “I am. Would you like to play? My hounds are starving, I’d gladly arrange that for you.”

“Not your game,” Her Majesty countered. “Mine. If your champion can best mine in single combat, I’ll grant you safe passage home, and sign a treaty conceding your independence. You can draft it yourself, and I’ll sign it in my own hand.”

_She would never do that. I suppose that’s why she brought me._

Ramsay sighed. “Do you think you’re impressing me by resorting to some ancient custom?”

“I’m not interested in impressing you. I just want to watch a man die.”

He seemed intrigued. “Very well. Who’s your champion, then?”

She tipped her head toward Jon.

Ramsay guffawed. “ _That’s_ your champion?! Where did he learn to fight, a pillow house?” The guard next to him sniggered.

Her Majesty’s only response was an impatient raise of an eyebrow.

“Very well.” Ramsay turned to his guard. “Fetch Lord Umber.”

Daenerys nodded at Jon. He dismounted, donned his shield, and stood midway between Her Majesty’s horse and Ramsay’s. The Greatjon strode between Ramsay and his guard, and into the open. Both sides backed up, to give the men more space.

As soon as he laid eyes on the man, Jon felt something inside him change. A moment ago, he was blank, mindless, and numb to everything but the constant fear that underpinned every waking moment of his existence, and permeated into his dreams. But now, he was fearless. He’d heard Lord Umber’s name before, but neither knew nor cared who he was. His mind could think of nothing but driving a sword through him in Her Majesty’s name. His body was a living weapon. Everything he’d ever learned about fighting, from Winterfell, to Castle Black, to the fighting pits soaked itself into his muscles. _She denied me earlier. I’m too angry for my own good._ But he knew that was precisely what she intended _._

Lord Umber was a hulk of a man, twice Jon’s age, but twice his size, and every bit as fierce and wild as a man of twenty. His greatsword was absurdly large, but he wielded it like a toy, holding it in one hand with two missing fingers. For a moment, they simply stared at each other. The man gave Jon the same menacing smile that Daenerys would sometimes give him when her blood was especially hot.

“Get on with it!” Lord Bolton commanded, annoyed and impatient.

Instantly, and with no warning, the Greatjon charged, swinging and barely missing Jon, even though he was twice as far away as Jon would have guessed. Jon ducked and rolled, expecting to recover in time to pivot and drive his sword through the man’s back before he could turn. But by the time he could stand, Lord Umber was already well beyond Jon’s reach.

He turned and charged again, cutting through the air with his greatsword aimlessly but blindly fast, denying Jon any chance at an attack. Foolishly, Jon put his shield up, and found himself stunned and in the dirt from the first blow the man could land. The Greatjon stopped in his tracks, stood over Jon, and drew his sword above his head. Jon managed to roll to one side just in time to dodge the tip of the blade that would have gone straight through his heart.

In the half a heartbeat it took for the man to pull the sword out of the ground, Jon was able to stand and land an aimless swing of his own through Lord Umber’s chainmail and into his shield arm. He swatted Jon away before he could do any more damage. _Not nearly enough._

Jon sprinted away to buy himself some time and get ready for a proper parry, when his eyes met Lady Sansa's. She stayed silent, but there was a strange look on her face; anxious and pained, yet almost hopeful. _She fears me, but she’s hoping I'll finally die._ That's how he would feel if he were in her place. _She’s rejoicing._ What else could it be?

Part of him wanted to grant her wish, but she was no longer his family. He owed her nothing, nor she him. _Her Majesty is all that matters. She is everything. My creator. My savior. My god. She commanded me to kill this man, and until he’s dead, I have no other purpose._

The Greatjon came charging toward him again, but slower this time, his sword no longer slicing away so recklessly. _He's tired._ Jon put his shield up just as Lord Umber began his downswing and could no longer stop himself. He braced for the blow with all his weight, his feet so firmly planted on the ground that he had no choice but to stay put.

Jon’s shield splintered and fell apart like it had been made of a bundle of twigs. His whole body shook. The blade would have cut straight through his arm, but just before it did, Jon threw himself at Lord Umber’s chest with all his weight, leading with his shoulder.

The Greatjon stayed standing, but it was enough to stop his charge. Jon kicked him in the shin for good measure, then pivoted with his other foot, whirled behind his back, and swung the sword with two hands, driving it through him from just above his right ass cheek, and out near his left armpit. _Breathe._

Lord Umber fell to his knees, then flat on his face. Jon walked around to his head and stood with his feet on either side of it. He put the tip of his sword on the back of the Greatjon’s head, and on reflex, looked toward Daenerys. _She will want him to suffer, but she may let him die quickly out of courtesy to Lord Ramsay._

Her Majesty seemed almost indifferent, and simply grinned back at the incredulous look on Ramsay’s face. She licked her thumb and rubbed it against a bloodstain on her breeches, groaning when that only made it worse.

Jon turned toward Sansa, whose face had turned to pure horror. It seemed she could not take her eyes off of Lord Umber. _Her Majesty would want her to suffer as well._ So he left the Greatjon to twitch and gurgle and die, and walked dutifully back to his Empress.

“Your whore fights well,” Ramsay conceded.

“I don’t pay him.” She was almost insulted he’d suggest such a thing.

“I suppose I'll have to fight my way back home, then. Very well. But be warned, my lady, I’m not as big a fool as Robb Stark. If you think you can crush me here and find the North undefended, you’ll be sorely disappointed.”

Daenerys paused. “I have another offer.”

Lord Bolton chuckled. “No, I won’t be your Warden of the North. No, I don’t want men to help me fight the Wildlings at Castle Black. No, I don’t want to be on your Small Council. You’ve disappointed me, Daenerys. I was expecting a much more fearsome woman. Instead, I got Cersei Lannister, but shorter. And stupider. We’re done here.”

He began to wheel his horse around, but Daenerys called out to him before he could show her his back. “I want to make you King of Westeros!”

That was enough to stop him. He had to laugh, lest he look too eager, but only a fool would think he wasn’t eager. “And why would you do that? Do you mean to sail back across the Narrow Sea? Is it too chilly?” He mocked.

“I mean to marry you.” Her Majesty was entirely serious.

He laughed again, and looked around, to make certain everyone saw how mad and stupid she was. “In case you haven’t noticed, my lady,” he gestured toward Sansa. “I’m already wed.”

The Empress nodded at Jhogo, who in one fluid motion raised his bow, notched an arrow, and loosed it straight into Lady Stark’s chest. Blood filled her tunic and her mouth as she fell sideways off her horse. Smelling blood, the horse balked and ran off, riderless. Jon felt a sense of relief wash over him. _Goddess spared me from answering to men for my crimes._

“Thank you, my goddess.” Jon was so unworthy of such divine mercy. Daenerys ignored him, looked Ramsay straight in his eyes, and gave him one of the most wanton looks Jon had ever seen.

Ramsay had expected none of that. His guards drew their swords, but Ramsay put his hand up, and they went back into their sheaths.

“I’m told your wife died after falling from her horse,” Daenerys explained, calmly. “You had to put an arrow through her chest to spare her the misery. My deepest condolences.” She paused for a moment and let them gawk at Lady Sansa’s lifeless body. “Now that you've had time to grieve, I propose we wed.”

Ramsay regarded her and broke into a crooked smile. “I believe I’ve grown to love you, Daenerys Stormborn.”

Her Majesty’s smile was bright and wide and evil as they rode through the gates into the bailey of the Red Keep. “Have him stripped and sent to my bedchamber,” she commanded Grey Worm as she dismounted, pointing at Jon. “And have the cooks prepare a feast.”

Grey Worm nodded, and his men grabbed Jon and slid the hood back over his head.

She kept him waiting in her anteroom, on his knees, naked and cold. When she finally emerged, she was naked herself, and already wearing her cock. “In.” She pointed into her bedchamber.

Jon began to rise. She smacked the back of his head and pushed him down to all fours, grabbing his hair and dragging him inside. “ _Crawl,_ like the filth you are. _IN!_ ” _You should have known that by now. You should be raped for that._

As soon as they were both inside, she kicked the door shut and pressed his lips apart with the tip of her cock. “Suck.” Jon took her into his mouth until he was about to gag, as Daenerys had taught him. She looked down at him and growled softly. “You’re lucky I’m letting you slobber all over this cock.”

Jon looked up and nodded. _This will make it hurt less. I don’t deserve that._

“But you need the practice.” _She means to share me._ “If the tales are true, Lord Ramsay is nearly as twisted as I am. He’ll want a turn at your mouth, and I won’t have you embarrassing me.” _I’m sorry I’m such an embarrassment, goddess._

Jon looked up at her. His eyes pleaded for her to see how thoroughly she’d crushed his humanity to dust. _‘Thank you for helping me be a good whore for him. Thank you for letting me please you by giving your husband a new mouth to rape. I’m so sorry I’m not good enough for either of you._ He could feel tears welling up. _Look how weak you are._ It made him want to be closer to her; to draw strength from her. _Suck harder, then!_ He loosened his lips and let her in deeper, until the gagging started. _Weak little shit. You’ll never learn. Suck!_ He coughed, sending snot-laced spit through his lips, dripping onto the floor.

“You hate yourself, don’t you?” She asked him, smiling as she grabbed his head and gave his throat the hard, deep fucking it deserved. “You hate what I’ve made you into.” _No, goddess, that was someone else. This one loves it._

She stopped and held his head in place, so the tip of her cock was just shy of choking him. “ _I_ hate you. Don’t ever forget it. The only reason I’ve kept you alive is to remind you every _fucking_ day how much I hate you.” She kicked him between the legs and stepped forward, forcing him to inch back on his knees toward her bed. “I hate your face.” She kicked him again, practically lifting his body by the toe of her boot and dragging him back. He took her meaning. _Keep going, fool._ “I hate the way you move and speak and look at me.” A harder kick. _Faster!_ “I hate that frozen field of _shit_ you once called home, and I hate every Stark who ever lived.”

He felt his back hit the side of the bed. Daenerys kicked him again and tugged him up by the hair. _Get on the bed and take your raping._ He gasped for breath as her cock left his mouth, then rose and began to turn over so she could take him from behind.

Before he could, she put a hand on his shoulder. “Oh, no. I want to look you in the eye while I do this. I want you to see what I am. I don’t think you know. All this time, and you _still_ don’t know.” She pushed his legs apart once he was half-standing, and forced herself into him. Jon moaned as she filled him. Pain and shame and fear were his home, now.

She spat in his face and pressed his cheeks between her fingers, forcing his mouth open. “Thank me again for murdering your sister.”

Jon was too absorbed in the pleasure of his debasement and didn’t respond immediately. _You’re too fucking slow._ She grabbed his cock with her other hand and dug her fingernail under where the head met the shaft. Jon let out a wild, terrified scream.

“I said _THANK me,_ you ungrateful beast!”

“ _Thank you for murdering my sister, Your Majesty!_ ” He shouted it as loud as he could. “You saved me from her!” He began to sob as she fucked harder. Her face was stone. “I don’t deserve your mercy,” he admitted, stifling a breathless moan. “I’m a traitor and a criminal.” He moaned again as her thrusts grew more violent. “You’re the only reason I’m alive. You are my god.” He winced in pain. “There are no others.” And again. He couldn’t be certain if she was even still paying attention, or if she was so enraptured by his pain that her body had already taken over for her mind. “The world begins and ends with you. You created me, and you will destroy me, and I will thank you for all of it.” In truth, he was barely paying attention himself. He had long ago learned to turn his mind off and let his mouth babble. It had been so deeply ingrained in his mind that he no longer had to think, but every last word of it was true.

His answer wasn’t good enough. He gripped the sheets and screamed as he felt her pressing her nail harder under the head of his cock, waiting for the blood to come.

“Do you think I did this for _you?!_ Are you _still_ so presumptuous?!”

“No, no, I’m sorry, please, I’m so sorry. I am nothing.” He began to pant. “You are everything. Please beat me, rape me, torment me until I _learn!_ ”

Daenerys ignored his blubbering and pulled his slut body harder onto her cock. “I murdered her because she was keeping Lord Ramsay from bending the knee. She _deserved_ to die! Say it! Say her name and admit she deserved to die!”

“Sansa Stark deserved to die, Your Majesty!” He found his legs wrapped around her waist, pulling her in deeper. “The world is your birthright, and all who deny it should burn!” _And they will._ “You did her a great mercy, Your Majesty! She deserved much worse.”

The words lit something terrible inside her. “You're Ned Stark’s whelp.” She took both hands and clenched his throat. “ _YOU_ deserve to die! Say it!” She lifted his bastard ass up and slid him back, jumping onto the bed, pushing his knees toward his head, pounding away at his poor excuse for a cunt, gripping him tighter.

“I deserve to die, Your Majesty!” He could barely get the words out. His ass clenched around her cock and his gut started to hurt from the sobbing. “I do! More than anyone! I live by Your Majesty's grace!”

The words satisfied her as much as words could. But that only left her wanting more. “Bleed, bitch!”

Jon screamed, wishing he could command his ass to tear itself open for her and give her the blood she craved, that she needed, and that was rightly hers to draw from him, however and whenever it pleased her.

“I said _BLEED!!_ ” _I’m trying, Your Majesty. Please, please know that._ He was truly trying, but he was failing, and that wasn’t good enough. _Try harder, you worthless walking corpse._ He clenched tighter, hoping the tension would finally rip something open. Her Majesty saw it on his face and thrust with all her weight, as deeply as she could.

Finally, mercifully, he felt the unmistakable burning pain of his insides tearing apart. She sensed it as well, and screamed in a dark, twisted ecstasy, as if she were spilling her seed inside him. _Pain is her seed, and she planted it deep._

“Ramsay and I will rape you until you’ll never have a proper shit again in your cheap, miserable life,” she sneered at him as she pulled out. She took her cock off and watched a tiny speck of blood grow on the sheets. “And then we’ll get mean.”

“Please, please, I need that. Thank you, Your Majesty.” Jon would manage somehow, once it happened. _Her Majesty should not concern herself with whether I can have a proper shit or not._

As soon as her cock was off, she shoved it straight into his mouth. He coughed and nearly retched, fighting not to taste the blood, sweat, shit, and shame that covered it. _That’s not what she wants. She’s teaching you what you are. Learn her lesson._ So he allowed himself to taste it, and fought the urge to retch.

Still kneeling between his legs, she took his hand and tossed it grudgingly over his cock. “I said I’d let you finish, so finish.” She slid her own hand between her legs and began to touch herself. “ _Finish!_ Show me how you love being raped until you bleed! Spill that vile bastard seed of yours. _Show me, you craven little rape doll!_ ”

Jon began to stroke himself. _Get hard, fool, or she’ll think you an ingrate._ But the taste of her cock was enough to disgust even a filthy creature like him.

Daenerys rolled her eyes. “If you can’t keep it in, bite down on it!” She scolded him between shallow panting.

 _You should have thought of that._ He bit down, holding it in place with his back teeth. He found his cock hard from fear alone, and began pumping. He was still coughing and heaving, but Her Majesty had begun to breathe faster, moaning, sounding almost like a woman and not a demon in the flesh.

“Don’t make me wait! _Pray_ you don’t make me wait, or I’ll do things that will make this feel like a ride on a pleasure barge.” Her eyes had the madness in them. Jon knew he didn’t have much time. “You _know_ I will. _DO IT!_ ” Her voice bounced off the walls and crashed against his ears.

Jon took no pleasure in it. All he felt was a pulse in his cock and a twitch in his legs, but it gave his goddess what she wanted, and that was all that mattered. The gift of denial she’d given him earlier yielded more than usual. _More pleasing to her. Another gift. Thank you, Your Majesty._

The sight made Daenerys scream and shudder. She closed her eyes, arched her back, and pinched her nipple with her free hand as she hit her peak. When it was done, she did looked down at him, breathing heavily, still as hungry and predatory as she’d been when she first dragged him into the room.

In her wisdom and mercy, she took her cock from his mouth and tossed it aside. As he gasped and coughed, she picked his seed off his stomach with her fingers and smeared it on his face. “Leave that there.” She climbed off the bed and grabbed his ankles, pulling him down to the floor. “Get off my fucking bed. I’m far too good to you.”

Jon curled up and sobbed, cold and bleeding and shattered, and let the pain and exhaustion pull him down into a restless sleep.

The feast in the great hall of the Red Keep was a hastily arranged, poor excuse for a feast. But it made no matter, as the guests, for the most part, were also hastily arranged and poor excuses for guests.

Her Majesty, Lord Ramsay, and their respective guards were the only ones allowed to bring in weapons. With the exception of their most trusted allies, the lords and knights in attendance wore roughspun, collars, and shackles, and were forbidden to speak. They dined on trenchers of stale bread filled with a thin, tasteless broth, while their lieges ate swan and oysters and wild boar.

Lord Ramsay and his bride sat next to each other, alone, at the center of the dais. Dressed exactly as he’d been when he fought Lord Umber, Jon stood rigidly behind Her Majesty, watching her shamelessly grope her future husband under the table, as he returned the favor.

“Stop eating!” Ramsay commanded, as he stood. “Eyes on the floor!” The room obeyed silently. He took a rib of meat from the boar and threw it aimlessly into the crowd. It landed on a table, though no one dared move or even look at it. As if from nowhere, one of his hounds pushed itself between two men, leapt up onto the table, snatched the rib, and returned to the floor. Her Majesty liked that, and ran a hand up the back of his thigh. Ramsay smiled and sat. “You may continue.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Jon spotted a serving girl with a flagon of wine, making her way from the far end of the dais. He paid her no mind at first, but something pulled his eyes toward her again. Jon felt a panic sweep over him as he realized who she was, and what she meant to do. Something inside him shook itself awake. _Let her do it._

Her eyes moved toward his, but he looked away before they could meet. _Don’t be stupid. She'll kill you too, just like Sansa would have._ Her Majesty saved him from that. But something about that rang hollow. The memory of murdering his father grew foggier. The story of her rescuing him in the Wolfswood seemed to no longer make sense. He remembered being captured. He remembered being on a ship. He remembered a horde of dead men, and a terrible need to warn the world that winter was coming. _Let her do it._

Jon could sense her slowing down to look at him, but kept his eyes forward. _Have you lost your wits?! Defend your Empress! It’s your duty!_ He’d said that so many times. He’d sworn vow after vow. _Did you, though?_ Maybe he only said that to survive. Maybe she wasn’t a god. Maybe she was just a madwoman who twisted his mind so badly that he no longer knew what was real. He could feel the brand on his chest itching. _Let her do it._

He could feel his heart starting to race. _Let her do it._ But would it matter? Her Majesty’s power transcended death. _Even if her body is gone, she’ll bring hell upon me for failing to protect her. She’s everywhere. She’s everything._ She’d told him that, and he believed it. But maybe that was all a lie to scare him into submission. Maybe death was death, for her as much as anyone else. Maybe it would all be over. Maybe he would no longer be anyone’s to torment. _Let her do it._

Jon watched her grow closer. She locked eyes with him, and refused to let him go this time. _It’s her._ He was sure of it. Her face was shock, pity, and fury. _Let her do it._ She was directly in front of him now, on the other side of the table, standing between Lord Ramsay and the Empress. They paid her no mind. _Let her do it._

The girl poured Ramsay’s wine with one hand, and slid the other behind her back. _Needle._ He remembered, now. It was their parting gift. He’d never been prouder, or seen her happier or more grateful than the day he put it in her hands. _Stick them with the pointy end._ Like as not, she’d learned much more than that between then and now. _Let her do it._

Another voice came to him. It made his body tense and his heart skip. _‘You’re a fool if you think you’ll truly let her do it,’_ she told him. _‘I have too much power over you. I’m stronger than the truth, or your will to be free. I no longer need you to fear me. You love me, now. That’s all the power I need.'_ It felt like the first time she raped him. _She’s inside me. She knows everything._

The instant the cup was full, Needle was out. Arya thrust it toward Ramsay’s throat, but he ducked out of the way, and the blade simply grazed the side of his neck. She arced the blade toward Her Majesty, her swing every bit as fluid and perfect as he’d seen from any Unsullied.

 _‘Watch what you do,’_ Her Majesty’s voice commanded. Jon grabbed Arya’s wrist before the blade could reach his Empress, and yanked her up onto the table. With her free hand, she swung the flagon wildly and desperately at Jon’s head. It hit him in the temple and shattered his cheekbone, and he could feel blood coming from the side of his head. _‘Don’t be a weak little shit.’_

“Jon!” Arya screamed, as he locked her neck into the crook of his arm and drew his dagger with the other hand. “Jon, don’t--” Her shriek was ear-piercing, and one of the most horrible things he’d ever heard. _Her Majesty will be pleased,_ he knew, as he dragged the knife from her bellybutton to her heart.

Still holding the side of his face, Ramsay whistled, as Jon let go of his sister’s neck. Blood poured from her body as he looked down at her, lying face up on the table. _‘Look in her eyes.’_ He did. The life was slowly draining out of them. He could tell she was trying to form a word, but all that came out was blood.

_‘Iksan aōha mērī Jaes.’_

“She is the only god,” he told Arya, as the last trueborn Stark blood dripped onto the floor. His only god turned, looked up at him, and nodded. _‘I told you.’_

Ramsay’s hounds bounded toward the dais and pulled Arya to the floor by her ankles. “ _WHO SENT THIS GIRL?!”_ He bellowed at the terrified crowd. _“WHO WAS SHE?!”_

“Merely a wedding gift, my lord,” Daenerys put her hand over his and smiled. “The Starks shall trouble you no more.”

Jon stepped back to his place and stood silently at attention, as the hounds began their feast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dark and infuriating enough for ya?
> 
> Thanks again to half_life for the great (if prurient) prompt, and to Fletcher and Rylands (whoever they are) for being careless mine owners.


	6. New Fic Coming

Hello all you twisted individuals who liked  _Spoils of Tyranny_ , long time no talk!

Just letting you know that I’m working on a new project that may well interest you. It’s another “Dany is an evil, sadistic megalomaniac” fic, set in a present-day AU.

I don’t want to give away too much, but it’s safe to say that Jon is yet again her prey, as are various others. Nor can I commit to a timeline given various life events that will take me off the grid for a few weeks. But I do have enough written to tease the advantages of a modern AU, which include, without limitation:

  * Cameras
  * Vibrators
  * Sybians and similar devices
  * Other creative uses of electrical current
  * Duct Tape
  * Unmarked vans
  * Hoses
  * Bungee cords
  * Krazy Glue
  * Gas masks
  * And much, much more...



Subscribe to me as a user, and not just this particular story, and (I think) you will automatically get a notification when I post it. Stay tuned!


	7. New fic is up!

As promised, [here it is!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12264447/chapters/27871731)

 

 


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